Clarity and Carnage: the 375th Hunger Games
by dreams and desperation
Summary: It's the Quarter Quell, and this time there are three times the tributes. One thing is certain: there will be utter carnage! Contains some strong language, and self-harm. Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games
1. The Announcement

_Gleam Rier, 29, Victor of the 364th Hunger Games (District 1)_

"Gleam?"

"What now?" I sigh, rolling over to face my girlfriend.

"Haven't you seen the time? Blain will be announcing the twist soon..." She glares at me, almost expecting me to have some sort of recollection of some twist, but I don't. "You know, for the Games... seeing as it is a Quarter Quell this year..."

"Crap! I forgot that was today! When is it?"

"Oh, you know, only about four hours or so..."

"Crap!" I get out of bed and begin grabbing come clothes to put on when I realise what she said. "Wait, what? Four hours?" I push her playfully but she barely moves an inch, despite her being nearly as light as a feather - I really wish I was stronger. She giggles. "You nearly gave me a heart attack then, Tallie," I say, sitting down on the bed. "I swear, you'll be the death of me, Crystal Olive Darenhof."

"Hey! You want to be careful about what you say - you're not the only victor in this room. And please, don't call me my full name, it's horrible."

"Sure, sure, Crystal..." I joke.

"Tallie," she corrects.

"Fine, _Tallie._ " I roll my eyes, but she takes no notice. "There - better?"

"Yeah." There's an eerie silence for a second before she speaks again. "What do you think it'll be?"

"I haven't a clue - it could be literally anything." It really could - through the years there have been all sorts of twists, such as not allowing volunteers, lowering the participation age, increasing the number of tributes, and sending in those who least expect it - victors and elderly people, to name a few. "

"Maybe it'll be a nice twist again." It's only a suggestion, but it's possible, seeing as twenty-five years ago, the age limit was raised.

"What, you mean like in Amazonia's year?"

"Yeah, like that, Tallie."

"That'd be good, less grief for the victor. Anyway, all this talking is making me hungry, I'm going to get some chocolate..."

"Same," I say, jumping up and going to follow her.

"Um, Gleam?"

"What?"

"Put on some clothes, Italia lives opposite and I'm not sure you want her seeing you like that."

We both erupt in laughter, me saying, "Gleam Rier, I think we need a little talk... about modesty!" in a mocking voice. Italia's a pain.

"You know what? I'll just bring you some."

"No, don't. I want to see her reaction."

" _Really,_ Gleam. _Really_?"

I wink at her and say, "Of course," racing down the stairs before she can stop me.

* * *

 _Ryeleighe Rawton, 37, Victor of the 356th Hunger Games (District 9)_

The Capitol TV theme tune comes on, alerting me of the announcement. I race to the most comfortable sofa, and let my daugher sit next to me. She's such a wonderful person, I find it hard to believe that I was pregnant with her at her age. I'm also hoping that they'll change the reaping age so she isn't eligible. At eighteen, I was volunteering, but she has no such intent. She has no need to, and if she can make it through this year, she should be safe forever.

"Good afternoon, Panem," President Blain says, fiddling with an envelope in his hands. He opens it, not messing about with fancy speeches like many of his predecessors. "On our fifteenth Quarter Quell, we honour the three hundred and seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, as a reminder of the number of lives lost in the rebellion preceeding the Hunger Games, each district shall provide six tributes. Three shall be female, and three male. As a reminder that even the youngest citizens suffered, two tributes shall be aged between twelve and fourteen, a further two between fifteen and sixteen, and a final two between seventeen and eighteen. As always, may the odds be ever in your favour."

The screen goes blank and I hear Adeline gasp. _Her odds have just been dramatically increased._ I wrap my arms around her tight, never wanting to let go of her. She's shaking like crazy - she's plainly terrified, and I'm unable to protect her.

 _I just have to pray the odds really are in her favour tomorrow,_ I think.

"What if I'm reaped, Mum?"

"Darling, you won't be."

"You really can't promise me that..."

A tear falls down my cheek, and I let out a small sigh. "No, I can't. It's unlikely though."

"It's still possible!" she cries aloud, and I feel helpless.

"It's improbable..." I whisper.

"I guess," she says, hugging me back. It should be me doing the comforting, but right now it feels like I'm the child, the one at risk of being reaped. I'm not though, so I try to sort myself out.

"Adeline, I'll make you a hot chocolate. Cream or not?" _I have to remain strong, for her sake._

"Cream, I guess," comes the response, her mouth forming a sad smile.

"Aw, don't panic. It's not today, just get some rest. You need it, you seem stressed."

"Yeah, but... can I still have a hot chocolate before I sleep?" she giggles. _Yes, my daughter's still exactly the same girl as twenty minutes ago._

* * *

 _Adnee Romulus, 26, Victor of the 367th Hunger Games (District 3)_

"Well, this'll be hell!" my girlfriend shouts in frustration.

"I think you're right about that, Coguell."

"Oh, it'll be so sad! All those innocent children dying, and so many of them too!" Coguell and I both look at Arya, confused.

Coguell scoffs. "Sad? No, it isn't sad - more annoying for me. Less room to myself in the apartment. More tributes to 'help' - because, let's face it, we won't be able to save them. There's no point! There really isn't!"

"Coguell, you're a victor now. That means you need to grow up, and bloody well act like one!"

"Arya, I've been a victor for five years, don't you think I know how I'm meant to be? Just because you expect me to act a certain way, it doesn't mean I'll act it! You're not my mentor anymore, you know. In fact, I'm not sure you ever were. Adnee helped me a lot more than you did."

"Yes, he did, at the expense of the life of his own tribute as we-"

"HE WAS TWELVE! HE WAS A CONCEITED, BRATTY TWELVE-YEAR-OLD WITH NOT A SINGLE CHANCE!" I scream, furious that she's bringing this up again. "So yes, I helped Coguell more than Vance, and she came home. In fact, whilst we are playing the blame game, I think it's only right to mention how little effort you put into saving her."

Her face distorts into a frown from her smirk, and Coguell bites her lip, nodding.

"Adnee has a point. You were a useless mentor to me, and I pity your two tributes this year. Maybe Adnee will have to take them on again, only this time they'll have me too." Her voice is calm and steady, the words almost a purr, but she has fury in her eyes that only can mean one thing: she's going to explode.

"Darling, I hardly wanted you to be the one to return, almost all of the other tributes were nicer than you. Actually, you can forget the almost - you were the cruellest by far." The older woman's gaze diverts to me, and she walks briskly over. Arya grabs my shoulders tightly, making me shudder. Her eyes have an evil glint in them as she says, "You and I both know that you wouldn't take her side if you weren't fucking her. In fact, I'm pretty certain the only reason you helped her in the first place was to sleep with her, isn't that right, Adnee?"

Coguell launches herself at her, repeatedly punching Ayra in the face before I manage to pull her off. "Adnee, let go!" she screams, trying to escape my grip, but I refuse to let her beat Ayra up again.

"We're leaving now. If you have any sense, you would get out of my house before Coguell knocks you unconscious. It's entirely your choice, but we both know what is wise..." I warn, as I begin to drag my girlfriend back to her own house, where she can't murder any fellow victors besides me.

I walk through the door and lock it behind me. "What was that? Really, that was irresponsible."

"It was her fault. I was fine before she said all that. I mean, is that really why you saved me? To sleep with me?"

"Don't be absurd..."

"Well, you sure succeeded, didn't you?" Tears well up in her eyes as she whispers, "I thought you really loved me, Adnee..."

"And I really do! You know how full of shit that woman is, I helped you because I saw a survivor, someone with potential. Yes, I liked you - it'd be pointless to deny that - but I never thought that you would like me back! You know me, Coguell, I wouldn't be that fickle."

"I guess," she says, wrapping her arms around me. "I swear, I'm going to kill that woman one day..."

"You and I both," I mutter under my breath. Ayra needs to learn a lesson or two.


	2. The Night Before

_Clara Donoghue, 29, Victor of the 363rd Hunger Games (District 6)_

The Capitol have taken it too far this time around. Seventy-two kids dying? It sounds horrific, and trust me, I know how horrible the Hunger Games can be. I mean, seven kids lost their lives at my hand, and the blood never washes off once it makes its mark on you. All your kills stay with you for life, and I have seven ghosts haunting me every day.

I suppose that's why I'm so blunt with my tributes. If I don't get too fond of them, then they won't follow me around so much after death. If I didn't keep each child as a statistic, and thought of them as a person instead, then I would be an emotional wreck all the time. As it is, I've learned how to get on with life, and being a victor no longer seems all that awful a person to be.

After all, to be one of those long-forgotten statistics must be much, much worse.

Untying my hair from its ponytail, I walk upstairs. The first place I go is to the bathroom, to take off the makeup I am wearing. I know it's pointless wearing it everyday, but the Capitol made me kill, and now I shall use up as much of their money as possible on luxuries for myself in revenge. It's a small victory, really, but any way I can damage the Capitol and make them pay - literally, in this case - is a good thing.

I change into my soft lilac nightdress, and get into my bed. The satin in the sheets still feels weird against my skin, even though I should surely be usued to it by now. I'm not though, and right now it feels like my legs are covered in sandpaper (satin's surprisingly itchy for such an expensive material, I personally believe).

I'm drifting off to sleep when I hear my phone ring. I get up and answer: it's my sister. Yet another way I use the Capitol's money, buying phones for all my close friends and family. Oh well, if they didn't want me doing this then maybe they should have just killed me there and then, in my arena. They didn't, so now they have to deal with my expensive lifestyle until the day I die.

"Clara?" comes the voice down the line.

"What?"

"It's the reaping tomorrow..."

"Well, obviously! I mean, why else would I have been going to bed at ten in the evening, hm?"

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"Of course not, what is it you need to say?"

"Max is panicking, Clara. It's his first reaping, and his chances are so high - I mean, there's that twist..."

"You want me to speak to him, don't you?" The words come out bluntly, but to the point entirely. I can't be messing about in this life, I haven't got a guarenteed life span. No victor does, one false move and, BOOM! You're dead. It's terrifying at times, but pushing things to the limit can also be exhiliarating.

"If you coul-"

"Get him on the phone, Attie. I'll have a word."

"Okay, thanks. Gosh, I wouldn't cope without you!"

"You would!"

"I would not!"

My voice cracks into a whisper as I utter, "You nearly had to..." Attie just ignores me.

"Auntie Clara?" It's my little nephew, aged just twelve.

"Hey, Maxie. Tomorrow is scaring you, I hear?"

"Yeah..."

"Don't let it, sweetie. You have no tesserae, and it's such a low chance... look, you're better off than most other boys. Don't let it get to you, yeah? It seems scary, but trust me here: you won't be reaped tomorrow."

"But I might be," he sobs, and I have to hold back my own tears - without him, Attie would be a mess again.

"Okay, say that near-impossible thing did somehow happen, then you'd still have me! Look, Maxie, there's nothing to worry about. Trust me." I hear him begin to reply but I just put down the phone. I need to sleep - if I don't go now, I'll fall asleep right here, on the floor. So I shuffle back to bed, and let sleep overtake me.

* * *

 _Clodagh Aster, 17, Victor of the 374th Hunger Games (District 4)_

"Clodagh, put down the blade..."

I look up, shaking, and Laigh is standing in the bathroom doorway. I guess I must have forgotten to lock the door. "Laigh," I whisper, my voice trembling.

She walks over to me and through my teary eyes I see her own are filled with pain - pain that I have caused. Without a second's thought, she prises the knife from my fist and places it in the basin, out of my reach. "I let you stay here for a few days so they could fix your window, not so you could steal my kitchen utensils and use them for _that_ ," she mutters as she wets a flannel with the tap attatched to the bathtub. "Here..."

Her voice is soft as she sings a quiet lullaby to herself while she tries to clean my wrist, to get rid of the blood that's been dying my pale skin crimson. When she has finished, she frowns. "That'll scar, that will..."

"I know." I wrap the flannel tightly around my wrist to stop myself from losing any more blood, and as I do so I feel an arm around my shoulder. Laigh's sitting next to me.

"Are you okay, Clodagh? I mean, you told me that you had stopped this..."

"I did!" I cry.

"Why'd you start again, hm?"

"I- I don't know... I just did."

"There must've been something, surely!"

I shake my head. "Just... everything. Life is hard now, you know? President Blain isn't exactly making it any easier for me when I won..."

"Yeah..." There's a silence for a minute, and I just watch as the pale green flannel becomes an awkward shade of red. Clearly I didn't wrap it tightly enough. I need a real bandage, to be honest. "Victory isn't all it's made out to be, is it?"

"No, it's so much worse... so much worse..."

She hugs me and kisses my forehead, almost like a big sister. "You're a mess right now, Clodagh." The tears sat on my cheeks are wiped away and she shows me a sad smile. "You're tired, you're not thinking rationally. It's two o'clock in the morning, get some sleep..." Laigh says, helping me stand up and leading me to the room I am staying in this week. She goes to leave but I stop her.

"Laigh?"

"What?"

"There's a knife in the sink..."

* * *

 _Woven Mardell, 30, Victor of the 359th Hunger Games (District 8)_

Well, I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm lying on the floor, my duvet wrapped around me like it's a cocoon, and I'm the little caterpillar it is concealing. It makes me giggle, but then I remember the reaping. As District 8's sole living victor, it's going to be down to me to mentor all six of the tributes. It'll be a tough job, that's for sure. At least five of them have to die - even more than I killed in my own Hunger Games.

After a few minutes of simply rolling around on the floor in vain, I finally manage to escape and take a shower. I dry my hair and return to my bedroom to select an outfit. I put on a lemon yellow suit with a sky blue blouse, and I leave my hair down since I know that the Capitol shall probably send me someone to help me look presentable. Just in case, I apply a small amount of mascara and lipgloss - miracles I did not even consider could make such a difference to one's life until I owned some of my own for the first time, back when I was a very young victor.

I walk to the Justice Building and I am immediately glad of my last minute decision to apply some minimal make-up, since they don't appear to have sent someone for me this year. It's a pain about my hair though. They've probably made them stay as a prep team member for one of the forty-eight additional tributes instead of helping the victors like me, who are mostly capable of looking passable by themselves - or so you would hope. I wouldn't be so sure about Olive - she seems useless still. Goodness only knows how she ever won the Games. She probably just hid.

The Mayor leads me to a chair, but I already know where I am to sit. It's never changed. I smooth my skirt and take a seat on top of the soft velvet cushions. I guess there are worse places to be sitting as I wait for the potential sacrifices to file into the square.

The escort appears and does a quick sound check at the microphone. She smiles at me, and I smile back at her. As Capitol citizens go, she is one of the nicest by far. Then she goes again, likely to adjust her hair in the mirror, and I see the first few children trickle through.

The looks on their faces serve as a very effective reminder about how lucky I am that those days of terrified anticipation ended years ago.


	3. District 1

_Tiara Holden, 18, First Female (District 1)_

"Amie. Amie. Amie. Amie. Amie. Amie," I say, prodding my sister each time I say her name.

"Tiara, what the heck was that? Like, seriously - what was the point?" _Well, you woke up - that was the point!_

"Um... nothing. But, hey! Do you remember what day it is today?" I giggle a little and she rolls over on to her stomach, groaning, in a clear attempt to ignore me. I mean, for what other reason would she be pulling her pillow around her face to cover her ears? Maybe I should sing instead. You know, since I'm just that _amazing_ at singing. Not.

"Tiara, it's Reaping Day, but seriously? I mean, is it too much to ask for a little more sleep?" I shake my head at her, with a slight little smirk. "Like, even just another twenty minutes or so? I don't even have to be on camera, just in the crowds..." she hints. I shake my head again. "Gosh, sis," she says as she clambers messily out of her bed, "I can't believe you. You're four years my junior, for goodness' sake! This should be the other way around, I should be ordering you about, not you ordering me about!"

Her comment makes me smile a little, but I plaster a great grin on my face as to annoy her. "But it's not, is it?" I sing in a mocking voice only just loud enough for her to hear, which irritates her further, despite the fact that she knows I'm simply messing about.

I'm out of there before she can get properly angry at me.

Walking downstairs, I shout to my mother, alerting her of my presence. I don't want it to shock her when I suddenly appear right behind her in the kitchen.

"Tiara, how are you?"

"Fine, thanks, mother," I say, my mouth full of the apple I just picked up merely a few seconds ago. My mother looks on in disapproval and I realise what she is trying to say. I swallow the apple I'm chewing. "Oh, right." I guess I'm much more understandable now my words are not muffled by, um... fruit. What a strange thing that sounds. _Words muffled by fruit._

She looks on at me with such sympathy in her eyes, none of it with good reason. "Darling, it's not too late to back out now. You don't have to volunteer. They cannot force you to do it..." Urgh, not this again.

"Ma, it's fine. I want to volunteer. I'm ready to represent the district, and I shall do so with pride. I shall be absolutely fine, you know? It will seem like no time at all before I am back home, the entire district showed with riches, and all because of me! Because of me, mother!" I feel invincible, free even, when a hand pats me on my back.

"Nice to see that enthusiasm, Tia. All those years of hard work - well, you'll soon be handsomely rewarded for them."

"Dad!" I scream, wrapping him in a hug. Yes, it may seem childish, but when I am a victor I'll have cameras always on me, documenting my life. Well, okay, not _always._ But still, quite a lot. And I want a few moments to myself before then.

"Hey, hey!" he replies, taking a step back. "Don't crush me! You'll have plenty of time to kill once you're actually in the Games, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I roll my eyes and look to the ground. I see my father mouth, _Is she okay?_ to my mother, and I twirl a loose strand of hair around my finger. What do they mean? I'm perfectly fine.

When she whispers, _Yes,_ to my father, I stop messing with my hair - reassured that there is nothing wrong - and instead put on some cute shoes, checking that they compliment my outfit. It's safe to say that they really do.

I sit on a wooden chair, just thinking about how I'm intending on volunteering, for about two minutes before you-know-who rushes over to me. "Are you okay, darling? I mean, it's awfully unlike you to be so... so silent!"

"I'm fine, ma, really. It's just... just the nerves. I mean, not as if I'm scared or anything, because I'm not, but because I want this to be perfect. What happens if the escort screws up? What if that distracts me, and someone else playing silly devil beats me to it? Or, how about if one of the other tributes messes about, or one of the other chosen tributes fails to volunteer and we're left with a snivelling mess on the stage beside us? I mean, what if? It'd look bad on us all - it'd look bad on me. There are five others, after all. It only takes one idiot to mess it all up for us all!" I let my head fall into my hands and let out a small sob. There is so much that could go wrong this year, and it is unnerving me. A moment or so later, I lift my head slightly to look at my mother again. "I mean, everything is all hypothetical, you hear me? But maybe that slight chance comes true, becomes the reality of my life. How is that going to help me survi-"

"I think I prefered her better earlier, when she was quiet." I sit up straight and fix my stare on that girl's grinning face. Huh, I wonder when she got here.

"Amethyst! Don't be mean about your sister!" my father calls as he exits the room. Amie sticks her tongue out at me, and I laugh a bit. I don't think our parents can tell when we are joking because, well... I just don't think they can! They're a lot more serious than we are, but I wouldn't switch them for the world. My fussy, overprotective mother - who would do anything in her power to keep me safe - and my encouraging, proud father - who just wants what's best for me, and he knows that volunteering is what is best. Also, my older sister, Amethyst. Well, I say older sister... she doesn't exactly act like it at times, but Amie would kill me if I ever said that aloud.

I'm only kidding. About her killing me, you know? Well, I'm the sole homicidal girl in this household, and there is absolutely no room for another.

* * *

 _Lyndon Meyers, 16, Second Female (District 1)_

"Well, this isn't at all a long queue!" I joke to my best friend, Emmeline. She shrugs her shoulders as if to say 'so what?' and I decide to ignore her for maybe a minute or so. It might not bother her, but waiting around sure bothers me.

It's been only around twenty seconds when the silence bores me. "You do remember your promise, right?"

"Of course."

"I wonder what room I'll be in, Em. Normally the tributes have a room each, the tribute rooms, but will they have enough? Hey, do you think I might get a brand new room for my visits?"

"Possibly," she laughs, I guess I may sound a bit excited right now - overexcited, even. But why shouldn't I be? I'm a chosen volunteer, and I just know that I will do my district proud. They'll be needing no body bag for me!

After what seems like an eternity (real time: three minutes and seventeen seconds, according to Emmeline's wrist watch), I'm at the check in desk. My finger is pricked, and I see the blood bubble on my finger for a moment. It's a strange sight, real human blood. I've always thought that it looks a little weird, such a pretty shade of red for something symbolising such tragedy. Still, I had better get used to it. In the Games, I won't just be killing dummies with brightly coloured paint in. It'll be the real deal, and I bet it will be thrilling.

I've lost track of Em's whereabouts, but it doesn't concern me. Why should it? I'll be seeing her immediately after the reaping anyway. Instead of trying to find anyone I know, I stand in the area for the other girls aged sixteen. For the first time, it feels right that I am where I am. I'm a girl, and I can finally show it on Reaping Day.

It's a squish as all around me girls shuffle into the area. This year, they're a bit more nervous. They're worried there won't be a volunteer this time. They needn't worry, I'm volunteering no matter what.

Our escort, Mercy Matherson, struts onstage, the sound of her heels touching the floor echoing over loudspeaker. Her red minidress is covered in tassels, and she wears a perfect crimson pout upon her lips. She looks very stylish, everything she's wearing is oh-so in fashion this season. I look at my own dress, and I'm more than satisfied. I shall look perfectly stunning alongside Mercy.

She taps the microphone and the already quiet children become silent. "Welcome, District One, to the three hundred and seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games!"

There are resounding cheers from the seventeens and eighteens, and the fifteens and sixteens are hardly quiet at this moment either. The younger children are though. There's a good chance they won't get a volunteer. It must be terrifying - like an outer district child, albeit one clothed in much finer attire.

She hands over to Mayor Merrie, who reads the Treaty of Treason, his clear voice never faltering - as usual.

It's boring and entirely outdated by now, considering it's been almost four centuries, but tradition is tradition, I do suppose. I just inspect my nails, making sure I look just right for my moment. Not that there is anything I could do if there was an issue, of course, but just for my own peace of mind. They're still looking okay, that's a weight off my shoulders. If I look fine, then this whole getting sponsors malarkey should be much easier.

The girl beside me gets a bit fidgety with nerves, and she accidentally treads on my toes, making me scream. I get a few amused looks from nearby girls, but, thankfully, the speakers are too loud for many people to hear. _Good - I need to show bravery, not get pity!_

He finally finishes talking and Mercy takes her place centre stage once again. "Right then. As each gender shall provide three tributes, I shall reap the oldest of the three first, followed by the middle, followed finally by the youngest. Only once I have reaped all the girls shall I reap the boys." She stares out at the expectant crowd for a few excruciating seconds before opening her mouth again. "District One, are you ready for the fifteenth Quarter Quell?" she shouts, enthusiastically throwing her arms into the air.

"YES!" we all scream, with such energy that I doubt any other district could ever rival.

After all, that's the thing about District 1: where all the other districts spend their lives trying to survive, we see through clear eyes, and we know that lives are for living.

* * *

 _Charming Heartsong, 15, Second Male (District 1)_

Mercy Matherman's skirt rides up a bit as she makes her way over to the first of six bowls, and I can't help but stare. What? Don't judge me, she's _hot._ She flips her hair and takes a slip, returning to her usual position, her head tilted slightly to the left whilst she walks, as always. What can I say? She's fascinating.

I bet she'd be fucking amazing in bed too, but I seriously doubt I'll get the chance to find out. Then again, I'm volunteering, she's escorting the other five and I... well, maybe I'll be in luck after all.

My smile morphs into a smirk at the thought, and Angora nudges me. "What are you thinking of, Charming?"

I stop gazing at the arse of the woman I've been undressing with my eyes, and glare at my 'friend'. "What do you think?"

It takes a moment for him to realise what I mean, but when he does, he scoffs loudly. " _You?_ With _her?_ " Angora's eyes roll, and I can tell he is deliberately overexaggerating his actions. "You have no chance, she's way out of your league. Besides, aren't you dating Velvet?"

"You always say I can get any girl I want. What's so different about Mercy? And, regarding Velvet, she won't be with me in the Capitol. She's going to be out of my life for the next few weeks, and what happens in the Capitol, stays in the Capitol. She needn't find out about anything like that."

"Girls, yes. Not women in their twenties..." Oh, so he decides to ignore the Velvet comment. Well, I shall just ignore him then!

I look back at Mercy as she opens the paper, calling, "Topaz Aeres." I recognise her name, she's seventeen, I think. She's probably remarkably unfazed too, considering this isn't her year.

Unsurprisingly, "I volunteer!" is the next thing I hear, and a pretty blonde goes and stands right beside Mercy. It's great for me, I get to compare their looks. In all honesty, they're on par with one another. Not that I'd ever say that to them - the guy who gets the girl is always the one whose sole focus is on them, and it's never failed before when I've pretended to be that guy.

"Lovely, our first volunteer of the year!" See, that's Mercy Matherman. No messing about, no lies about how surprising each volunteer is - straight to the point. "What's your name?"

"I'm Tiara Holden, I'm eighteen, and I shall win for you all!" she says with a wink, and nod my head in time with the rest of the crowd's applause. _Yes, she'd be a decent fuck buddy._

"Great to meet you, Tiara. Now, for another girl..." She goes to the next bowl and pulls out a slip identical to the first slip. "Scarlett Maddison."

"I volunteer!" A girl struts onstage and she looks vaguely familiar. "Lyndon Meyers."

Her name is familiar, I've got a feeling she's a model so I must have seen her in a magazine of Velvet's. Even so, I don't think she's a patch on Mercy or Tiara. Those two are stunning.

"Nice name, sweetie! Now, the final girl..." She randomly selects a slip from the bowl, and reads it aloud. "Amour Atkins."

"I volunteer as tribute." A short girl smiles as she makes her way through the crowd and climbs onstage.

"And who are you?"

"I'm Opal Mahogany, and I may be only thirteen, but don't rule me out - I'm as good as these girls here, if not better..." she tells us, and she says it with such confidence that it'd be hard to not have faith in her going far.

"Wonderful! Three female volunteers, how exciting! Let's see if the boys can impress as much..." _The boys will impress you, Mercy. I'm the chosen middle boy, I'm sure we can both agree that I'm nice eye candy to say the least._

She selects a slip and reads out a name, "Shine Arrow."

Of course, Shine shaln't be in the Games, he has a volunteer. When he walks onstage, he introduces himself as, "Platinum Brilliance Victorian." To me, Mr Victorian looks slightly less impressive than the girls, but I'm sure we'll see soon enough who the real competitors are.

She walks to the next bowl - my bowl - and selects a slip. I shake my legs so they're not stiff when I walk onstage.

"Dior Greeves."

"I volunteer." I run my hand through my hair one last time and casually make my way onstage. I can feel thousands of eyes on me and I love the attention, it's a really great ego boost. It's not like I need one though - I'm virtually perfect as it is.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm Charming Heartsong, and I'm going to prove to you all exactly how good I am." Of course, I'm only saying that for the Capitol's benefit - I'm sure District 1 know how amazing I really am already.

"How nice," Mercy mutters, and I'm slightly gutted that neither her nor Tiara seem to be falling head over heels for me yet. _Huh, I guess I'll have to set my sights elsewhere. Who knows, maybe girls from 2 or 4 are the best in bed?_

Whilst I grin at the camera team, making sure to get as much screen time as I can manage to achieve, the final tribute is drawn - the littlest boy.

"Peridott Sims." There is an awkward silence as nobody moves, and nobody shouts out that they're volunteering. Eventually, a small child slowly walks out of the fourteens, and it remains so eerily quiet that, should somebody drop one, you would be able to hear a pin making contact with the ground. Peridott's light footsteps and muffled sobs seem noisy, and I never thought I would say that about a District 1 reaping. Nobody ever cries, they have no need to. In all honesty, this kid is just showing the rest of us up. It's fucking bad luck that he's the last tribute of us, he'll be remembered as our district's conclusion. Fucking fantastic, right? Or not.

Well, Mercy makes us all join hands in unison (in school we're taught it's a way of showing the districts that the Capitol can use anything we do against us, it's a Quarter Quell tradition dating back to when the Victors tried to use it against them), and I'm angry to have to join hands with that little fucker. As you can probably tell, he squealed when I somehow sqeezed his hand too tight. An absolute accident on my behalf, of course. I mean, why would a boy such as me, who knows the great importance of first impressions, want to punish the idiot who ruined their perfect look for the Capitol?

He deserved it, I hope the Capitol see his tears and note my strength.

* * *

 _Opal Mahogany, 13, Third Female (District 1)_

Even though I would have been totally fine if left alone, my family still insist on paying me a visit. Before my sister has even entered the room, my mother is babying me and hugging me so tight I think it might actually be squishing my insides. Ironic really, all things considered. As a volunteer Career tribute, one would think I wouldn't need treating like a small child.

Apparently, in this scenario, one is wrong.

"Oh, Opal, darling, what am I to do when you are away in the Capitol, and in the arena? Oh, sweetie, how shall I cope?"

I roll my eyes. "Mom, you knew about this already."

"Yes, yes, but still - how shall I cope without my number one baby daughter?" Behind her, Aurore gives a slight cough, as though attempting to attract some attention, but our mother is entirely oblivious. Instead, she is focused on me.

Looking her in the eyes, I say, "You'll cope," and I hope that she'll shut up about her being in mourning before I'm even dead and gone.

Oh, I should be so lucky... not.

"Poppet, you're only young, maybe you should have waited another couple of years - until you are sixteen, maybe."

"Um, mom?"

"Yes, sweetie."

"Did it not occur to you to say any of this _before_ I made the commitment to enter the games? I mean, this isn't just another of your sappy novels, this is real life. I can't go back on my decisions as easily as you like to make out when you write..."

"But, Opal..."

I roll my eyes, and call across the room, "Dad! You have faith in me, right?"

"Sure thing, Opal!" he calls back, and I smile smugly.

"See! If dad has faith in me, and he helped to train me, then surely I'll be fine, mom, fret not!"

"Fine." She sighs a heavy sigh and you can see the sadness in her eyes. I should feel quite guilty for making her feel this way, but I don't - not even remotely. "If this is what you want to do, then I'll back you all the way."

"Glad to hear that because, you know, there isn't really much of an alternative option here..." I joke, and she laughs. I feel her warm hands cup my own as she whispers, "You just look after yourself, darling, okay?" I nod when her eyes meet mine once again. "Good," she says, and she promptly leaves me with just my father and sister.

Aurore staggers over to me, mild amusement conflicting with anger on her face. "Well, look who's in the Games? Not me, it seems. No, my silly little sister. What a freaking coincidence that is."

"I don't believe in coincidenc-"

"And I don't believe in luck!"

We just glare at one another until our father can take the tension no longer, and he stands between us. "Stop it, girls. Opal's going to the Capitol, so be nice, Aurore..." He says it with a friendly enough tone to his voice, but he's staring at my sister with pure fury.

Aurore knows not to mess with him when he is angry, so she does not. To antagonise him now would be the equivilent to signing your own death warrant, and that'd be unwise of her considering she is not the sister going to compete in a death match. No, that's adorable little me. Or, should I say, little me who is deception in pretty packaging? I may look cute and sweet, but I can sure as heck put up a good fight. I'm one of the best, and don't you forget that. Ever.

The peacekeeper by the door forces them to leave, but they are replaced by Iris and Eliza. Iris hugs me and Eliza just grins, before Iris goes off on a rant, making both Eliza and I laugh hysterically.

"...it's just not fair, Opal, it's not! I'm the one who wants to live there - trust me, I'm going to find a loophole that permits me to - and yet you are the one of us who gets to stay there! I mean, hello? Logic, anybody? No?" She rolls her eyes and slouches in the chair, her head resting on her right hand. "The Capitol is supposed to be my destiny..."

"Why not volunteer, hm?"

"And dirty my hands with human blood? Not a chance, honey! Not a freaking chance."

Strong. Opinionated. No nonsense. They're all reasons that I'm glad to call Iris an acquaintance of mine. She's quite similar to me in those ways.

They're taken away too and I grin. Nobody tried to hinder me - besides my mother, of course - and nobody has no faith in me besides Aurore. _I can do this._

* * *

 _Platinum Victorian, 17, First Male (District 1)_

"Bitch, please. I'm already better than you'll ever be."

"What makes you say that, huh?"

"You're a just a little girl. You're weak, you're not exactly intimidating..."

"You're younger than me, you do realise?"

I walk on the train and immediately see two of my district partners - Charming and Lyndon - arguing. They're furious, and- she's only a year or two younger than I am, right? Because wow, does she look hot when she is angry...

She's fucking gorgeous. Damn.

I decide to break up the battle, poking Lyndon's shoulder, prompting her to turn to me and ask, "What is your problem, huh?"

"Nothing, nothing. You two were fighting, I broke you up. Simple as." I'm about to take a seat when I think better of it and whisper, "Besides, we wouldn't want him to ruin that pretty little face of yours, would we now?" with a wink. The girl just stares at me, baffled, before walking in the opposite direction.

Maybe she's a simpler person than I am.

Standing about gets tiring very quickly, so I head to the chair I was making my way to before, but Charming beats me to it.

"Um, excuse me? That's my seat..."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. I claimed it, kiddo."

"Not moving."

I raise an eyebrow. _Great, a stubborn district partner._ "You sure about that?"

"Certain."

I could go on for hours, but I like to pick my battles. A chair on a train isn't a battle worth picking. I leave the carriage.

I see our escort with some of the district's victors and I smile. We're a Career district, there's a good reason each of these people won. They're not a bad group to pick up some tips from.

I frown when I notice that there are only three of them. _That's strange - I thought we had more than that._ Then, I hear a female voice that's half-disguised by her giggles, and I realise there are more victors elsewhere.

"...and did you see her face? Oh my, Italia's going to be staring at you throughout the time we're in the Capitol, wondering what the heck you were thinking! Even more, what the heck I was thinking, I'll bet! I mean, she said she was disgusted with you, and with me for allowing you to - even though I encouraged you not to, may I add - but I bet she was secretly hoping you were in her house instead of mine..."

" _Tallie!"_ a man gasps, clearly unimpressed with how loud she is talking.

"What did I do now, huh? Anyway, even if she was genuinely disappointed in you, I don't see why. I mean, you were naked in my front room - big deal! I was clothed, and it was hardly like we were actually having sex or something, you know?"

" _TALLIE!"_ he hisses, and I find myself laughing hysterically. His frustration and her being so ignorant of it is just too funny.

"What's wrong?" Crystal Darenhof - our district's youngest Victor - asks her companion, Gleam Rier. I raise my eyebrows when I see him, he always seems so respectable during his public appearances, and I'd have hardly expected him to be nude within the sight of a middle-aged woman such as Italia.

Huh, shows how much I know about people.

Crystal notices me and stares with evil intent, clearly unamused with how amused I am with her. I force myself to suddenly stop. "Um... hi?" I say to try and lighten the mood.

"Hello," she responds, sounding like she is suspicious of me.

"I'm Platinum - pleased to meet you, Crystal."

She grimaces at the name and tells me, "Call me Miss Darenhof, please. I am both a victor and a mentor, not a fellow tribute, so I'd appreciate you treating me with some respect."

"Yes, ma'am." I snicker as she follows Gleam. _Well, she seems like a bundle of joy to be around. Not._

Right now, I'm having to cross my fingers and hope that she isn't my assigned mentor.

I decide that it'd be for the best if I avoid the victors for a little while, so I spend a while just looking around the carriage I am in, and in what seems like no time at all, I'm in the Capitol. I guess being so close to the Capitol geographically really does have some benefits.

* * *

 _Peridott Sims, 14, Third Male (District 1)_

Well, considering what their role is, my prep team really aren't all that bad company. They're polite, and they all lead some rather interesting lives. I decide that I like them, that they're nice and genuine even if they have such a deception-based job designed to make me look permanantly adorable.

Well, I say that they're polite... they have their moments of bitchiness.

"Ah, I'm so glad I was moved to District One this year - you have much better personal hygiene than they did back in District Eleven. I really hope this is a permanant change for me - you, Victoria, are much better company than the team I was in formerly was."

"I've no doubt that I am, I saw Aurelius once and he seemed awfully uptight."

"Yes, he was frightful to work with, I didn't like him at all. Well, I suppose I must have proved how amazing I am in comparison to he and Sophia, since he has been kept back with the youngest girl from District Eleven. Even Sophia managed to upgrade herself to the second girl from District Five - although may I say that, in her defence, she could be a lovely girl when she wished to be, and I'm sure she shall be more than pleasant company for her tribute now she is the lead of the prep team for the dear child."

"Ah, indeed, I'm so very glad I was assigned to you, with a from District One of all places! Yes, little Peridott here may not have been a volunteer, but we can promote him none the less, and his place of origin has made my own job much more pleasant than it could have been."

"Oh, of course - Victoria, you should have hated District Eleven's offerings, they took forever to get to even a half-passable standard."

"I'm sure of it, that your job must have been dreadful in comparison to now. My, I should hate it if I am not kept in a District like District One after this year, though I feel as though I shall be kept on for sure - only half are being gotten rid of after this year, and I don't doubt that some of the older members of teams shall be gotten rid of as well as some outer-district new ones."

"Most likely that shall be the case, yes, and I shall be sure to put in a good word for you so you are kept on in a prep team, hopefully my own."

"Thank you for that, I appreciate it. Peridott, you're fine still, I presume?"

I shall admit, their conversation has had its moments of cruelty aimed at others, but I have no doubt that they are good-hearted people from how they keep asking how I am every five minutes or so. "As fine as I could be considering I'm a tribute, Victoria, thank you."

"As long as you're okay, dear..."

I go to nod but considering that she's now using tweezers on my eyebrows, and I really don't want to risk them going into my eye, I stay perfectly still.

After they're satisfied with how I look, they tell me that I am ready to see my stylist, and I thank them with all my heart. Though they're nothing like the people I know back home, they're genuine and being in their casual company has really settled my nerves - though I am still incredibly nervous, don't mistake that, I'm feeling more confident that I can maybe make myself look like I am less so, thanks to them.

"Ah, you look like a tribute I can work with, hallelujah! Nothing like those that I used to get..." a lady hisses and I turn around suddenly to see a former stylist standing before me.

"I- I thought you were District Nine..."

"District Ten, not Nine - the children from there would have been frightful, I'd have thought. At least they seemed well-fed in District Ten..."

"I thought that you had retired..."

"I had, but they needed additional stylists for the Quarter Quell, so they called me back."

"Oh."

"Indeed. I'm not exactly keen to be back here myself, I had thought my working days were behind me, but no. Apparently they thought that my creations for Grange's Victory Tour were brilliant enough to make me return, and I shall admit that they really were the highlight of my career. The one he wore in District Two was really something, don't you agree? Oh, and the Capitol one..."

I nod in agreement, and try to look eager to see the outfit she has prepared me, but I secretly wonder how she expects me to remember the clothes worn in a specific district during a Victory Tour seven years ago, when I was only aged seven. I highly doubt that she remembers what outfits were worn when she was seven. Still, you never know...

"Who was your favourite victor when you were growing up?" I ask, trying to seem interested in her life.

"Oh, mine was Ross Olmens for sure, I've heard he's mentoring again this year and oh, it makes me so happy! Who is yours, Peridott?"

"Clawd seemed sweet, I really liked him." She frowns and I realise that the boy I'm referring to was from District 9 and so in an attempt to make my stylist happy I quickly add, "Grange was a close second though." She seems to believe me well enough and I let out a breath I didn't realise I had been holding.

"Here's your dress, Peridott. I hope you like it!" _Dress? Oh gosh, no..._

"But I'm a boy!" I wail.

"What's the issue?"

"I'm a boy, I can't wear a dress!"

"Well, it isn't a dress as such... let's put it on you, then you'll realise what I mean."

"Fine," I grumble, still not happy with the fact that I'm being put in girls' clothing. _I'm a teenage boy, I was not made for dresses, this is an outrage!_ She zips me into it and my jaw drops. "That's the most dress-like non-dress dress I've ever seen..." I say, and I'm not lying.

Whoever doesn't class that as a dress is fooling themself.


	4. District 2

_Petra Silverwood, 17, First Female (District 2)_

Well, would you look at that? It's the day of the reaping already, and I'm fully prepared for whatever may happen. My opponents may be formidable - well, a few may be - but I have no doubt that I can rise above them all to become the victor of the 375th Hunger Games, and make my district proud. Some call me obsessed, some call me a training fanatic, but soon I'll be the one laughing in their faces when I beat seventy-one others and become the ultimate victor.

I can see it already, the final announcement: _"May I present to you the victor of the three hundred and seventy-fifth Hunger Games, Petra Silverwood of District Two!"_ Oh, when my name is the one everybody across Panem is talking about - well, that's when I shall finally be satisfied.

Drawing back my curtains I see a pair of girls walking already. I observe the first. She is tall, brunette, and slender. The way she walks suggests happiness but the expression on her face suggests all but. Evidently, she must be scared yet trying to mask her fear.

Her companion is a slightly younger version, and her sickeningly jolly attitude is entirely genuine, from what I can see.

See, this is why I don't exactly have a large number of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but friends? Well, they're only a hindrance which spends its life giggling... and giggling... and giggling, until they're finally reaped and they die. End of story. My point is, I don't _need_ to be around fickle wannabes to be able to keep myself occupied. That's what the training centre is there for, and I've always been one to make full use of it.

I put on a pastel blue jumper and a grey skirt. My outfit needn't be anything fancy, I can make a good enough impression by just being myself. It's always worked before. Besides, I've heard from some of the girls at school that blue is really in fashion right now, so it can't be that bad anyway.

"Good morning, Petra," my father says upon my enterance into the kitchen.

"Good morning."

"I presume you are ready for the reaping."

"No, of course not!" I roll my eyes in an overexaggerated manner. "Yes, I am, Pa. I am definitely ready - I've trained for so many years with your help that I would be stupid to not consider myself at the top of my game. I'm as prepared as I will ever be," I say with a slight yawn, and it causes him to frown.

"You remember everything I have taught you, I presume then."

"Of course. You gave me wise advice."

"Indeed I did, you're my daughter. It's about time the Siverwoods had a victor, and I know you won't let yourself become a disappointment. I've raised you better than that, and I know that you can do this."

"Of course, Pa. I would never even consider finishing anywhere besides first, you know that. It's a competition, and everybody strives for first. You'd hardly want to come second, nobody remembers those people in the long run. I doubt even the families do," I sneer.

"Petra..." my father warns.

"Don't worry, I remember. At the reaping I must seem intimidating to make me seem sponsor-worthy, but not too much so as to scare off my potential allies. I must seem brave and self-confident, but not overly arrogant so I don't become the main target. I need to stand out in a good way, to show that I really am a true Career. Pa, fret not - I have it all covered."

"You certainly remembered everything well."

"Why wouldn't I? I'm intending on coming home still breathing, and you've helped others in the past, and they have sometimes gone on to become the victor. You have a good track record, and I should be mad to not take your advice."

"Spoken like a true warrior, Petra," he says with a shadow of a smile forming, but I don't have either the time or the patience for this nonsense.

"I know, but this conversation? It's honestly boring me already," I respond, and I walk out the room and into the bathroom. I need the mirror to be able to style my hair. Yes, I might not be wearing overly fancy clothes, but I still want to look reasonably presentable for the Capitol. I mean, I can't let them write me off already because of clothes!

I pin my hair up perfectly and it looks really rather lovely, if I might say so myself. It is sure to go down well in the Capitol. Who knows, maybe when I win all the little girls shall be getting Petra-inspired hairstyles. I'd like that a lot, to be honest - to be idolised by all the children.

I calmly walk back into my bedroom and retrieve my academy dog tag. The chain's simple, stating just 'Petra Silverwood, 02587' - my name and my academy recruit number. For that is all I am right now, a number. Give it a few weeks and it shall all be different. I shall be a number no longer.

My father decides to leave early to place yet another bet on me volunteering before the odds get too measly, so I bid him goodbye. We do not hug, we do not shake hands, neither of us kiss the other on the cheek. I know plenty of families who do such things, but I have never understood them. To me, they just seem like useless sentiments, and everything of the sort is always a lie.

I far prefer solitude. After all, there is only one person you can ever truly trust and that is yourself. Everybody else just lets you down...

* * *

 _Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)_

The line's a lonely wait for me, I cannot see Lethe or Victor, and there are millions of thoughts running through my mind.

 _Are you really sure about this, Mason?_ says a little voice inside my head, and I jump. That's unusual, to say the least.

 _Come on, Mason. Make your parents proud of you,_ says another.

 _Think of yourself, Mason. Do you really want this?_ says the first voice again.

 _Don't you want to be the favourite child?_ responds the other.

 _Killing would change you, Mason..._ reminds the first of the pair and I grimace. Two tiny figures of my imagination are quarreling with one another inside of my head. It's interesting, I suppose, but very distracting, and ever so slightly creepy. They've never appeared before, and I sincerely hope that they will never show themselves again. It must be a result of the boredom right now, just waiting in a queue of other children.

I don't know why I feel even the remotest bit doubtful, this has been my dream for years. To volunteer... well, it would make the past decade of training entirely worth it. If I didn't, then that would be putting ten years of my life to waste, and I could never bring myself to do that.

 _You'll be letting go of many more than ten years if you enter and die,_ reminds one of my irritating imaginary companions, and I can't take it any longer. "Shut up!" I shout, and the others around me stare. All I can do is pretend that I haven't noticed their reactions to me behaving like this. I don't want anybody thinking I'm insane, because I'm really not.

I reach the desk and let them prick my finger. The blood forms a dome on my finger and I smirk when the young boy next to me winces. I'm not a weakling, but even in a Career district like my own some people are still wusses.

Making my way to the masses of teenagers who are mostly anxiously waiting for the reaping to begin, a small smile creeps onto my face. This is my big break, and if I get it right today then I shall be one of the favourites for sure. Maybe I'll even be the favourite of them all!

She takes her time, but eventually Elza Idelza burts through the double doors of the justice building and dances onstage. Quite literally, that is, since she is extending her arms and legs and pulling poses every two steps or so in her clearly choreographed routine. Her dress is straight and short and sequined. Her lips are painted in a red as bright as the cloth that adorns the stage, and her hair is in large curls pinned tightly to her scalp. Though I doubt that anybody would ever tell her this, she looks like a prostitute in silver.

I'm not even joking now, though I wish I was - she is welcoming us all, and she appears to be using her arms to make the wings of an invisible vertical snow angel. I swear to all things worthy, she is entirely insane. She's lost it, and I think many would agree of I voiced that I think she is pretentious and fake aloud.

The act she puts on is too overly dramatic to be even the remotest bit real.

In all honesty, she seems to be trying to give off sex appeal, but she's far too ugly to ever manage to pull that off. I mean, she's no ogre, but she's no supermodel either. I would say that she is average looking, but all the fake trash she plasters on her own face makes me think less of her.

The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason - it's the same as ever - and permits Elza to draw the tributes. I look around to see if I can see my friends as she explains the order she shall reap us in, but I cannot trace them out here.

Once she is sure that we can all grasp the concept of girl then boy, she nods ferociously and with such undeniable determination that nobody would ever be able to doubt her passion.

She does another little dance, involving lots of twirling around with her hands in the air, and I sigh loudly. This is absolutely ridiculous.

I hear a boy near me asking his boyfriend how close he is to punching her, and I find it wise to interject.

"I'll do it for you in the Capitol, okay?" I say, and they turn around, obviously not thinking that anybody was listening in. "Just be glad it wasn't the head peacekeeper..." I remind them, and they nod. I've heard from my family that he can be awfully cruel about such silly little things when he wishes.

Elza finally reaches the female bowl, and then she walks back in a normal manner once she has selected the slip. I think I speak for everyone in the district when I say that it is a relief that she is behaving like a human being now, for it really was quite dreadful.

* * *

 _Arminta Massina, 13, Third Female (District 2)_

"Adela Lark!" she calls and a gleeful girl skips to the stage. She knows that she is safe, but nobody would blame her for relishing her moment of fame. After all, she may never get it again. If I was ever reaped, I would try to make a good impression so that when I volunteered a few years after I would be remembered for how confident I was when I was younger, and it would definitely help me to get some sponsors. The Capitol love a bit of irony, and nothing could be more ironic than a reaped girl volunteering a few years after so she goes into the arena regardless. It'd make for a few classic documentaries, that's for sure.

Of course, it wouldn't be the same this year, but there's next to no chance of my name being called. I'm pretty safe, all things considered.

A girl shouts out that she is volunteering and when she is onstage she introduces herself as Petra Silverwood, though she sounds awfully disinterested in the whole ordeal. My bet is that she wishes that such formalities as the reaping didn't exist, and that she could be in the Capitol already.

"Now, for our first male tribute of the year." A hand reaches into the bowl and a name is called. "Aaron Minchelly."

Aaron doesn't make it more than a few baby steps before someone takes his place. "I volunteer!" he calls with steely determination, and Mason Slate seems a bit intimidating to me. See, this is why I shall not volunteer until age eighteen...

"Lovely! Two volunteers already, how fabulous!" she exclaims with a flourish of her left hand. I cannot help but tut; Elza Idelza really is something else. "For the second little darling girl..." she announces as she proceeds to the bowl that glitters under the sunlight today. It really is a beautiful sky, and I'm glad that today is the reaping, for it means that I am outside beneath it - not just cooped up in the academy like the chickens that we kill are cooped up in their cages. "Marilla Celian!"

As expected, Miss Celian doesn't even have to move from where she is standing. There is, as expected for her particular age group, a volunteer. When she goes onstage she offers a nervous smile and calls herself Ellia Reyner. I recognise both her face and her name, I'm fairly certain that she is a victor's child, though I'm not entirely sure about which particular man fathered her - it was either Remus or Ares... but she looks not particularly like either.

Though it's not at all like I'll let it bother me. I mean, I'm sure they'll say on the television.

After her, it's just the same old for the boy. The volunteer's called Glair Clermont, and I see nothing perculiar about him at all. He looks like a typical tribute to me.

Finally, my section. The youngest girls.

As Elza reaches for a slip, I inhale sharply. I can't let myself die yet, I have to stay safe for just this year. Any other year and an older girl would volunteer.

Nobody under fifteen ever really volunteers, not in District 2.

She makes her way back to her microphone and slowly unfolds the paper as girls all around me all cross their fingers in the hope that the name that is read out is not theirs. I do exactly the same. "Arminta Massina." _Wait, what?_

I can't have been reaped, this wasn't my plan! I was meant to have another five years until then, I'm not strong enough for this yet!

And yet I have no choice but to put on my game face and walk onstage in as casual a manner as I can manage. I need to be strong to stay alive. Maybe I'll be able to fool the Capitol into thinking that I am fierce if I can stay composed for now. I can figure out my strategy later, as long as I give myself the foundations to work from.

 _Stay calm, Arminta. Everything will be okay if you just relax and accept this..._

So that's what I do. I take a deep breath and I count - _One... two... three..._ \- and I keep walking... and walking... until I am standing next to Ellia. I offer her a small smile and she sends me one back.

 _Huh. Maybe she'll be okay._

I don't even have time to notice that Elza has left her podium before she calls, "Invictus Nero!" and a tall boy in the fourteens looks up from the ground, bites his lip, and cockily makes his way towards us with a smirk on his face. When he notices a boy begin to stir, he glares and calls aloud, "Don't even think about volunteering. Don't even let the thought cross your mind..."

It makes the child shy away but it doesn't stop Invictus from continuing his warning. "This is _my_ year, _my_ Games. If any one of you does volunteer, I will kill anyone who you have ever even done so much as look at - I will rip them apart, limb by limb. Don't think that I wouldn't do the same to you." He takes his place at the end of the boys' line and just stares out to the audience. "Now," he says with a threatening voice, "where were we? Oh, yes - any volunteers?" After a sweep of the crowd with his eyes and with confidence he makes his way to the microphone, pushing a shocked Elza out of the way in the process. "No? Good. I guess I'm the tribute then."

He ignores Elza as she tries to beckon him towards the boys once again, but instead he makes his way to stand between Ellia and I. He turns to me and with a wink that's hidden from the camera he whispers, "You're pretty."

All I can say back is, "You're not too bad yourself." _Sorry, Invictus, but t_ _wo can play at that game..._

* * *

 _Glair Clermont, 16, Second Male (District 2)_

The sight of my first visitor makes me smile. "Mara."

"Glair," she says with a smile.

"Were you proud of me out there?"

"What, when you volunteered? Glair, you know how much I hated the idea of you volunteering, but yes - I'm happy for you. You looked happy onstage, even if you were loads shorter than the other tributes..."

"Don't even go there, Mara. That Invictus kid must've been at least five or six inches taller than me an-"

"Don't fool yourself, Glair. He was at least one foot taller than you," she reminds me with a grin.

"Fine, fine. I'll admit, he was way taller than me. But still, that's irrelevant - and you know that. What is relevant, however, is that I am going to be returning home very soon - just you watch..."

"What choice do I have, in all honesty? They'll make me watch regardless, and if you die, I wo-"

"I'm not going to die in there."

"Just hear me out, okay? If you die, I won't be able to look away in time - there'll be no warning beforehand to tell me when your time is up. And when you kill, I'll see it. You're hurting me just looking at you now, how much you've changed, but I'm trying not to show it. You could see when I came in though, couldn't you? So there's no point in pretences any more, Glair. There's no point in lying."

"I couldn't tell, Mara."

"Don't lie to me..." she warns me, like it's a threat. "Besides, if that's true, then you're devoid of emotion, but I don't want to think that of you, I really don't. So please don't let me think that, Glair, and tell me it's a lie that you feel no remorse or that you can't even read emotion any more, even if it's a lie in itself. I'm really not sure what I would feel if you died, but I don't want it to be hate for you, I really don't."

"Please don't hate me. You're my only friend, I _need_ you, Mara."

It's just a simple reminder, but it is all that it takes for her to forgive. She wraps me in an embrace and I feel my body stiffen up. I don't like physical contact, even if it's those nearest to me, like my family and Mara.

"Don't hate me..." I mutter into her ear.

"I won't," she whispers back.

My family appear when Mara has gone. Mother, Father, Donnelly, and Teana all crowd around me, congratulating me in turn.

My mother is especially proud. "My son, the future victor!" she proudly announces to us all, though we all already know.

"Um... thanks, I guess?" _These people are so annoying._ Mara I could cope with, I'm used to her. I'll never get used to my family's unbelievable optimism, despite knowing them from birth. They're just _too_ happy.

A strand of hair in Teana's updo falls, and as it does so I say, "Your hair, Teana. It's coming undone." She just grunts.

"Stop being such an angry vegetable!" That was Donnelly.

"Donnell, your sister's not a vegetable. Behave, and grow up, for goodness' sake! Honestly, your younger brother's more grown up than you are! He's actually going into the Hunger Games. You haven't, I'll remind you."

"And I'm really glad I never did, and I really wish Glair wasn't! But you already know that..."

"I do, and I'm honestly ashamed of you because of it, Donnell Clermont Junior, I really am."

As their verbal war continues, my father approaches me. "We'll let them fight it out among themselves, eh? Glair, I'm proud of you for following your dreams, I am. I know you can win this, your mother's trained you well, she has."

"Thanks, dad?"

"Why the uncertainty, son?"

"Doesn't matter." It really doesn't, I just want them to go now.

Luckily, a peacekeeper grants my wish.

* * *

 _Invictus Nero, 14, Third Male (District 2)_

I look at the bracelet on my wrist. It's a far cry from the engraved necklace Alexa gifted me, but my father actually means something to me - unlike her. Alexa's so naïve to think that I actually care about her, anybody can see that I don't. Besides her, of course.

I'm not the first on the train, but I'm not the last by far. There are no signs of Glair, Mason or Ellia - though I swear I saw Ellia enter before me. Petra and Arminta are together, standing over a table. I decide to go nearer to listen in on their conversation.

"You mean you can't read that? Do you even go to school?" Anybody with any sense would be able to hear Petra's sarcasm, but apparently not Arminta.

"No, I don't. I quit it to train."

"You still go to school, you only have to take _some_ time out for training."

"I don't." Well, Arminta's pretty, but she's dumb. Maybe even dumber than Alexa.

I go over to them and stand behind Petra, looking over her shoulder. _Chariot._ What kind of a kid can't read that sort of word at her age?

"The word's 'chariot', Arminta. Learn to read."

"Maybe I had priorities, Invy." _Invy? Ew, why would you ever come up with that?_

"My name's a bit longer than that, sweetie."

"And my name's a bit longer than 'sweetie'." _Ouch._

"Actually, Arminta, it isn't. You seriously should have gone to school..." Thank goodness for Petra being here.

"Hah! At least I'm not a dumbass little girl..." I jeer.

"No, you're only an abnormally tall, incredibly immature young boy."

I look around to see Arminta's reaction to both my comment and Petra's after, but she is already gone. Damn it.

Elza's here though, and I wish that she hadn't made that decision to join Petra and I in this carriage. I was quite looking forward to a little confrontation. Then again, what's to say that I can't do that anyway?

When I turn around to see Petra not there, I realise that I physically can't confront her now. I'd have to know where she was, for a start.

When Elza spots me alone, there's nothing I can do but pretend to want to make polite converation.

"Hello again, Elza."

"Invictus! Good day, and such a wonderful group of tributes you are. Why, I shouldn't be surprised if I got another victor this year, I think there's a very good chance."

"Any... standouts in other districts?"

"A few, but I still think you all are the best."

"Okay, that's good to hear," I say, gradually edging backwards until I'm out of the carriage.

In the small room I now stand in, there are the doors to the train, and I stare out of the window, taking in the distant Capitol's splendour. It really is something special.

I hear a call of, "Glair, look at the city!" and I realise that whilst I have been standing here, my district partners have been getting acquaintanced with one another.

I'll certainly have to do some catching up in the Capitol.

* * *

 _Ellia Reyner, 16, Second Female (District 2)_

The prep team aren't too bad, though they are awfully quiet. In a way, I should be spooked by the sound of their tools as they work on my body, but my father's already told me what it all entials, so I was already prepared when I followed them into the room.

They trim my hair and sweep it off my face, creating an updo. It's pretty, like I hope my dress will be.

When they are done, I let the absolute silence overcome me. It's a surprisingly beautiful thing, to be alone amongst the silence.

"Hello, I'm Carmelia. I'm your stylist." I turn around swiftly and see who is speaking.

"Elle," I mutter. She walks towards me.

"Happy to meet you, Elle, and I do hope that you feel the same about me. I've had your outfit in mind for years, and I think that you'll be the perfect girl for it." Her smile seems so genuine when she looks at me, I can tell already that I shall like her. I recognise her from the television, from past Games, but I think she is a rather new stylist. She's only about twenty-four, and it's a relief to see that it is her, and not one of the weird stylists. Yes, her hair is metallic blue and to her knees; yes, her eyelashes have sapphires at the end of each abnormally long lash, but she seems rather down-to-earth in her interviews - rather _normal._

I offer her a shadow of a smile, and she notices it.

"So, what made you volunteer this year?" Carmelia asks.

"I just wanted to," I say, but I know I sounded uncertain, and I can see that my stylist knows I am lying.

"Now, you and I both know that that isn't the truth, darling. What's the real reason?"

I hesitate a long while - I'm not sure if I can trust her enough. The concerned look on her face tells me that I can, and I really need to get it out, so I tell her: "My father made me."

I'd always expected that people would treat my like an idiot if they ever found out the real reason, but she just comes over to my side and puts her hand on my shoulder. "I thought as much. Ares always seemed too proud to have honest intentions..."

It shocks me to hear people talking about my father in that way, but I know more than anybody that what she is saying is true. He only cares about himself - not anybody else, and least of all, me. I'm just a speck of dirt to him. My only purpose in life is to win the Hunger Games, and I know that I'm not even strong enough to do that.

"Why did I have to be such a failure?" I timidly say. I'm not asking anybody the question, not really, but Carmelia answers me anyway.

"You're not. I don't see how you can think that about yourself, darling." She sits me down on the preparation table, and she sits beside me, her arm around me. "I'm sure nobody in their right mind would see you that way. You're polite, you seem to have a kind heart - you're a nice person. Yes, you're not Games material, but most people honestly aren't. So don't put yourself down, because you're not the one with the issue. The arena will be punishment enough for your non-existant sins that you seem to think you have to carry, you don't need to emotionally torture yourself before then. Just let yourself relax and enjoy the Capitol. After all, it really is a wonderful place."

I look her in the eyes and say, "Thank you," and I mean it. Nobody's ever really told me that it's okay to be me before. I've always been taught to be the best - to train, and to volunteer, before eventually entering the elite circle of victors alongside my father - but it really isn't me. It's a shame nobody back home ever thought to tell me that, to give me strength to believe in myself, or else I could be someplace safer right now.

"Well, enough of that!" Carmelia stands and grabs a clothes bag from the side. "I have your outfit. I do hope you like it..."

When she goes to unzip the bag which contains my dress, I already know that I'm going to like it - not necessarily because of the design, but because of the person who made it, and the intentions they had when making it for me.


	5. District 3

_Bug Huxley, 17, First Male (District 3)_

Technika wakes me. "What is it?"

"I think Mommy's not feeling well today," she says with a certain naïvité I wish that I still had. Me, I know fully well what the issue is - she's scared. It's the reaping today.

Technika's the lucky one, she is. She gets to miss out on the Quell twist, being eleven and all. The odds really were in her favour when she was born two days after that year's reaping. She won't have to face the consequences of the rebellion all those hundreds of years ago until she is nearly thirteen, and she'll never have to deal with a Quarter Quell Hunger Games.

Nothing will be wrong with our mother's physical health. I must play along regardless though, I don't want to worry her. "Okay, I'll check up on her."

"Okay!" she says. She kisses me on the cheek, and runs off into the main room to play. The kiss was the signal for me to join her, and the fact that she is crouching behind the wicker chair means that she wants to play hide and seek. I peek my head through the door to my perfectly well mother's room, just so my sister is satisfied, then it is playtime. "Oh, I wonder where Technika is? I can't see her _anywhere..._ " I say, before embarking on a mock hunt around the room.

When I'm in the furthest corner, I hear footsteps and see her going into my room. "Hey!" I call as she shuts the door behind her. "Let me in, Technika!"

"No!" she giggles. As much as I love her, she's a handful.

I hear a knock on the front door and I open it. "Hey, Mæddi."

"Hey, Bug," she replies, giving me a gentle kiss. "How's Niki?"

"Technika? She's fine, though I swear that you're the only person who ever calls her 'Niki'..."

My girlfriend shrugs, and says, "She likes it." Sitting on my mother's favourite chair, she asks, "Has she been asking about her father again?"

"Not recently, no, and I'm glad. I never want to have to try to explain the word 'prostitute' to anybody again, Mæddi. Honestly, it was hell even trying."

"I think it must've been. Niki can be a stubborn little girl when she likes, can't she? Then again, I'm not sure I'd have believed my brother if he told me that about Mom when I was his age."

"True. We're better off without him anyway, we are. He could be a horrible person for all I know. Prostitute users usually are."

She grins, and her eyes seem to light up. Her smile is so beautiful that I can never help but feel happier when I'm around her like that. "Bug, babe. You're better to her than any father could have ever been. She's lucky to have you as her big brother, she really is."

I take a seat opposite her, and I let myself relax. _It's just a silly reaping. You'll be fine, you always are._

* * *

 _Pixel Circuit, 17, First Female (District 3)_

Poking my back, there's a little girl whose other hand is tightly gripped in her mother's. The girl thinks that it is harmless fun, judging by her laughter, but I beg to differ. She has shockingly sharp nails for such a little child.

She's not even in my queue, she's in the general population going through to the edges of the square. Unfortunately, I'm in the last tribute queue right now, and we're not allowed to go back and change to another one.

It's still morning, and yet it feels like it could be the middle of a winter's night. It's horrible weather, it truly is.

The day's just wasting away as I queue for the hour until I finally reach the check-in desk. My finger is pricked, and I am on my way - by which, I mean to say that I am amongst the many others in my situation.

In the square, children are nervously shuffling into their designated areas. I join the crowd of seventeens, and attempt to push my way to the sidelines so I actually have enough room to breathe. Seeing as I am not the only bright spark with this idea, I don't quite make it. _Great, now I'm going to die by getting knocked down and trodden on._ Surely even the arena would be preferable to that fate.

As my tiny circle of space surrounding me gets smaller... and smaller.. and smaller, I start to wonder how I've managed the last five reapings like this. It's hell to be here, with no room to move about.

Almost as though he was answering my prayers, Appius - our escort - walks onstage. "Welcome, welcome, District Three! Now, I'm so pleased to be here with you all today, considering out recent success stories. In far under a decade, we have brought home no fewer than _two_ victors! Mr Adnee Romulus of the three hundred and sixty-seventh Hunger Games, and Miss Coguell Damiende of the three hundred and seventieth Hunger Games. Now, that gives us a fine chance of another child from our district joining their ranks this year, in the Quarter Quell..."

His voice goes on, and on, and it bores me. Another thing which perplexes me about him is how he seems so determined to be classed as District 3. I'm sure when he is among his Capitol companions he would be more than happy to identify as a Capitol citizen.

Appius keeps talking but I hardly pay attention. I can hear his voice, but I'm not at the reaping. I'm showing off my latest invention to the whole of Panem, and the people in the Capitol are shouting my name - they're celebrating my skill, and I'm respected. It's like the pageant at the start of the Hunger Games, whe-

The link to the Games brings me back to reality, and it's a disappointment. Dreamland is always so much more exciting than the real Panem, and it's so much less dangerous.

* * *

 _Dynamo Serkit, 16, Second Male (District 3)_

"Are you ready for me to read out the name on this piece of paper?"

"Yes!" I shout, but I'm the only one. Everybody else here remains silent.

"Glad to see someone in my district's enthusiastic..." I hear Appius mutter, and I'm glad that he heard me. "Pixey Platt!"

A tiny girl with wavy brown locks stumbles out of her section right at the back, and makes her way past the rest of us. She's managing to touch a few of the boys in their hearts, and I hear whispers of, "Oh, she's adorable, why would they even allow someone like her into the arena?" and, "Aw, that's just disgusting of the Capitol."

Teardrops fall from her little brown eyes, leaving circles of darkness on the ground. Appius has a sad smile now, he must find it unjust that kids like her are in the reaping.

"Now, let us move on with the reaping..." he says, before making his way to the bowl, taking a slip, and returning to his podium.

Upon the call of her name, a girl known as Therese Patterson makes her way to Appius. As she climbs the steps, she trips a little, and she makes little to no effort to cover it up.

Though she grips the material of her skirt tight, we can all see her shaking. I feel somewhat sorry for her, it must be a horrible feeling to have that choice taken away from you like that. She looks incompetent, and she must know that she is about to die.

Mere seconds after Therese makes her way to her spot onstage, the final female is announced. "Representing girls aged seventeen and eighteen, we have Pixel Circuit!"

A circle of bare ground is created, a girl in the centre, but she just stares at the sky. She looks completely out of it until someone walks up to her and taps her on the shoulder. "W- what?" she asks, only a slight hint of panic in her voice until she looks around her. "Why is everybody backing away from me..?"

A call from the adults around the edge of, "You've been reaped, love," makes it all become real for her.

She gasps, and I can hear another girl screaming, "Let me through! She's my best friend, let me through!" before a girl grabs Pixel's hand and sobs, resting her head on the reaped girl's shoulder as the tears stream down her rosy cheeks.

The cameramen get a close-up of this, and I can already imagine how much the Capitol will love the splendid entertainment caused by two saddened seventeen-year-old girls.

A peacekeeper drags one girl away as she screams, " _NO!"_ and the other girl is pushed onstage by another.

Obviously keen to move on from the spectacle, the first male tribute is announced by Appius: "Bug Huxley."

Bug's way of getting to the stage is the proper and correct way. He just walks, and takes his place. Honestly, some people are just too emotional...

When Appius moves onto my age group, I start to get really excited. This is my chance to shine.

"Wheelan Blanchlet."

"I volunteer." I make my way calmly onstage, and stand by my fellow tributes. They all frown - well, besides Therese, who is still staring blankly at the masses. "What?" I ask. "Never seen a kid volunteer before?"

Appius is still grinning from ear to ear at the fact that he has a tribute who elected to be here for once, and he virtually skips to the final reaping bowl. "Last but not least," he begins, "a Mr Tech Thoha-"

He tilts his head as though it will help him read it, but it's to no avail. He sighs, and I feel like doing the same.

"Tech T-H-O-H-A-T-D-T-O-S-P-E-E-E-L-L-E!"

Though it sounds funny as he pronounces each individual letter, his approach seems entirely sensical. I'd no doubt do exactly the same. I'm not sure about all of those _clever_ kids who seem so quick to judge, but I'm sure even they would have difficulty with Thohatdtospeeelle. Nobody's really as bright as they like to make out, after all.

He walks onstage like any other child would do but then something registers inside and he races over to the camera crew and snatches the camera from the hands of one of them. He cradles it in his arms like a newborn baby and begins to stroke the lens. The whole of the crowd just stares at the young boy like he is insane. He probably is.

My eyes widen when I hear him mutter, "Good camera, good little machine..." repeatedly whilst he looks at it with such undeniable longing. It's the kind of lust I've seen in some of the older boys, but that's completely absurd. This isn't another teenager, this is a _machine._

It really isn't possible for someone to love a machine. At least, I've always thought and hoped that. Well, this kid is proving me wrong right now, because he actually seems attracted to that thing.

It makes me chuckle to think that, until I remember that I actually have to spend time around him, and I gulp. _This is not a boy I want to be acquaintanced with..._

Rage fills up inside of me, and I scream. My fists are clenched so tightly that I can hear my knuckles cracking, and I want to punch someone. So I do just that - I go up to the oldest girl and punch her right in the centre of her face.

Pixel stumbles back, her face a picture of shock - even more so than when it was pointed out to her that she was reaped. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a peacekeeper sharply tugs me backwards into the Justice Building.

* * *

 _Therese Patterson, 16, Second Female (District 3)_

"Well, would you look at that? She can't even keep herself alive, she's that useless," can be heard from down the corridor, and it signals the beginning of my parents' visit.

"Be _nice,_ Dominic. We want her to die happy, not feeling like we hate her!" Little do they know that I can already hear them, that I know what they're saying about me, and that they're still managing to upset me when they're not even with me yet.

"Therese," my father says upon entering the Justice Building room I am situated in. His face is angry, his features severe.

"Dad."

"You never saw Techa getting reaped, did you, Therese?"

"No, Dad."

"Are you feeling ashamed of yourself yet, Therese? Do you feel like a failure, hm? Do y-"

" _DOMINIC!"_ my mother hisses.

"Now, now, dear. Let our daughter explain herself." He looks at me once again. "Therese, care to explain why you let yourself get reaped?"

" _DOMINIC!"_ my mother hisses yet again, and she drags my father into the corner of the room. "Our daughter is going into the Hunger Games to die, and you taunt her so? Just relax for once, she'll be out of our sights forever after this and I, for one, am actually rather upset about the whole ordeal. She never asked to be reaped, it's entirely random! You weren't, I wasn't, Techa wasn't, but poor Therese was. Don't punish her over something that she had no choice in, for goodness' sake, Dominic!"

She talks quietly, but I can still make out her words and I'm comforted to know that one member of my family still cares, even if Dad doesn't.

"Mum," I call.

"Yes, poppet?" she responds, walking back to me and putting her arm around me, embracing me like any loving parent would in this situation. Maybe Dad should take a lesson or two from Mum sometime in how to be a decent parent.

"Are Eddison and Techa coming to see me?"

"Therese, you know Techa lives a long way away now. She won't have time, she has to get back. It doesn't mean she loves you any less though, poppet. She still cares about you, you're her little sister. And Eddison... I don't know, I can't say for him. I suppose it depends on whether or not his parents think it's wise." A peacekeeper at the door gestures to her and then to my father, and she sighs. "Look, poppet, we have to leave now, but... just remember I love you. We all do, even if your father never really shows it..."

"Thanks, Mum." And just like that, with a kiss on my forehead she and Dad are gone. I bow my head and let the tears fall from my eyes.

"I'm going to miss you, Theri." I look up - Eddison. "The factory will be lonely now you're gone, it will," he continues, as he paces around the room. "It's a nice room, Theri. Shame its only purpose is to send kids like you to die, huh?"

"Yeah, it really is," I say, getting up and hugging him.

"It's kind-of ironic really, isn't it? Your sister's going to play a role in your death."

"Don't even remind me. Mum and Dad still think she's wonderful, even when she's an engineer for the Hunger Games. I mean, last year her creation killed the boy from Eleven, and the year before she managed to get rid of both the girl from Six and the boy from Eight, but they still think she's fantastic. They're going to continue to love her, even if she ends up being to blame for what kills me. They'll always prefer her, no matter what."

"You know, it's kind-of creepy how soft your voice remains when you say stuff like that."

"Are you picking on my voice now, Eddison?" I joke, and I hug him. I can see the peacekeeper getting impatient, and I really don't want my friend taking away before I get to say goodbye to him properly. "Thank you for everything, Eddison. You've always been a great friend to me."

"Don't thank me for anything, you've done the same for me," he reminds me, before he walks away accompanied by my peacekeeper.

* * *

 _Pixey Platt, 12, Third Female (District 3)_

"Did you know that Tech Bridt created the super-bright lightbulb? My name's Tech too, I need to see the lightbulb in use."

He begins to run in front of the train, but Appius notices me and calls out, "Somebody stop him! He's running away!" and two peacekeepers drag him off the track, making red marks on his arms from where they gripped them too tight. It looks like it should be hurting him, and Appius is making a fuss over his supposedly broken left arm, but that isn't what's bothering him for some reason.

"My super-bright lightbulb! It's gone!" he sobs. " _NO!"_ I giggle. _All this over a lightbulb?_ Silly, silly boy. He should've asked the pixies to help him. The pixies always help me. They're going to get me out of the Hunger Games, I just know it.

I skip onto the train and see a vase of pretty flowers - they're pink. Pink's my favourite colour, it is. Purple is pretty too though. So are all the other colours, except black and grey. They're too dull, I like bright stuff.

I sit on a chair made of soft orange velvet, and I stare out of the window. The sky's a pale blue shade today, and the clouds are as white and fluffy as in my father's picture books. As we pass by all the different districts, the sky's colour changes. Through District 9, it's even clearer than back home.

I can see a girl, maybe about thirteen, hiding amongst the grain. The train stops suddenly, and I wonder why. _Has it broken down?_

"I know how to fix things!" Tech shouts from the next carriage along, his voice loud even still. "I can mend the poorly train!"

But the train isn't broken, because the man who gets out isn't an engineer, but a nasty man in a metal white suit.

He stands very near to my window and I wonder why he's staring into the fields, and when he fires his gun I know I've realised too late. I can't even close my eyes in time, I saw the bullet hit her and the blood stain her dress.

I gasp. _Why would someone do that to someone?_

When he comes back on the train, I hear him telling Appius that, "That'll teach the little shit to not miss her reaping."

It seems extreme to me, and even though I've turned away now, I can't get her bloody corpse out of my head. _It's okay, Pixey. The pixies will look after her now..._

It's a long while before we're out of District 9, and being into the wilderness is a relief. _Maybe some of the pixies live in the trees..._ I look, but I can't see them. Maybe they're all just hiding from the nasty men. I don't blame them for doing so, I wish I could hide with them. They scare me, when they kill people in the square, or like that girl then who didn't even know her time was up.

District 1 has a horrible grey sky, and it starts to rain. It matches my mood - glum. It's not very pretty, and the Capitol that signifies the return of the happy people and colours is the most welcoming thing I could ever imagine.

* * *

 _Tech Thohatdtospeeelle, 13, Third Male (District 3)_

One of my prep team bring a machine to my face, and I grab it off them before it touches my skin. "Wow, it has a mega rotor!" I say, reading the sign on the side and holding it close to my chest.

One of the Capitol girls says to the other, "Oh, gosh, what have we got here?" but I couldn't care less as I prise it apart. Inside, there lies the sacred rotor that I've been trying to recreate for years.

"I'm going to take this..." I announce, keeping it tight in my hand. This is already a dream come true, and I can't wait to see what sort of experiences being here can bring me.

The duo search the room for manual items, and while their backs are turned I take the golden opportunity to steal a few small electronic pieces. I never usually take from people, but they only use the best on their beloved tributes, and I've never seen such good quality electronics in my entire life. They must have been made in one of the northern factories, because I don't know of any which makes this kind of thing in the south of District 3. I'm actually rather envious of the people who get to make these kind of things, because they really are wonderful.

"We'll just have to use tweezers on him, Euphoria. Yes, it shall be very time consuming, but I see no other choice for this boy. Just turn off that battery powered pair you had earlier."

"I'm afraid I can't..." Euphoria says, searching through the tray.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I mean that they're not here, Dolores! They've gone!"

She sees a silver trail as I quickly try to hide my stolen goods behind my back, and both of them glare at me. Euphoria snatches them off me, and she says, "Felt like becoming a common criminal, did we?" I nod, I'm not sure what else I can do.

As Euphoria puts them back on the tray, Dolores kneels down beside me, puts her mouth by my ear and hisses, "If you weren't a tribute, you'd be an avox by tomorrow..." She manages to fill my ear with spit, blocking my hearing in the one ear. I hope I don't come to rely on this one in the Games, because I don't think it'll help me hear things coming all that clearly anymore.

When they leave, I am glad. I truly dislike them - all I did was take some things to study, that hardly should warrant a loss of hearing in my right ear!

"Can you get me a mega motor?" I ask when I see a shadow come through the door.

"Yes," comes a gruff voice from the darkness. _I like this man already._

"Catch this," he mutters, and a ball of cloth comes my way. I look up, unsure on what I am supposed to do. "Now put it on, and exit through the door I'm by now."

"Okay..." I say, throwing the silver gown over my nude body. I look in the mirror - which holds the only light in the room right now - and I see my reflection. _Wow, I look amazing!_


	6. District 4

_Monique Zale, 18, First Female (District 4)_

The sea breeze tickles my bare neck as I stroll along the beach. Maybe I should be in training, getting in some last minute practice, but I'd rather be here. The sand, the sea, me... alone. I won't get much time like this in the Capitol.

The water tickles my toes as I walk, and it reminds me of what I'm letting go of to volunteer. Nothing would ever stop me from volunteering, but I'll still miss some things - like this.

I can feel my top blowing up slightly so I pull the hem down again. I'm glad I elected against a dress, people would have seen my knickers if the skirt of it blew upwards in the wind.

Another reason is because I see Dorry coming out of the water, and he would surely never let me live something like that down.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around his bare torso. I can't see Sedna anywhere, but then again she probably wants to be pretty for the camera. She's still of reaping age, unlike Dorry. He can just blend into the crowd from this year onwards.

"You're looking nice today, Monique."

"Um... thanks, I guess?" I say, before quickly changing the topic to the first thing I can think of. I rant a bit, but he is obviously unimpressed.

"Yes, Monique, I know there is a cloud in the sky today - I can see it. But seriously, must we always discuss the weather?"

"Yes."

He tuts, and puts his arm around me. "You're a weird one, Monique."

"You know, Selma's a lot nicer - maybe I should find her instead," I joke, but he looks upset. I don't like seeing any of my friends upset, no matter one of my two best friends, so I look around. _There._ "Hey, Dorry! Race you to the pier!"

I begin to run, and he soon catches up. "I'll beat you this time!"

"No... you... won't..." I pant, and he was right. He's already there when I arrive.

"How's it feel to be a loser, huh?"

"Shut up!" I hit him playfully on the arm, and he jumps back in mock fright. This is how our relationship works - I joke, and he jokes back. And I'm fine with that, it's convenient. I have bigger priorities in life than becoming "more than friends", but he doesn't quite feel the same. I feel guilty for always pushing him away, but I have to put my training before stuff like that.

Mornings like this one, where I allow myself to be free from all the stress in my life, are scarce.

I take a moment to regain my breath, and then I hug him goodbye. "I'll see you in the Justice Building, yeah?" I whisper into his ear.

"Sure thing, Monique." I walk backwards as I wave, but when I am just within arm reach I stretch and pull off his towel. "Hey!" he calls as I run up the nearest dune, and keep on running until I am home safe. I deposit the towel in the corner of the room, and laugh when I think that he'll have to walk home topless. The creepy old ladies down his lane will love it.

 _Well, they know who to thank for it._

I go to my shelf and pick up a dagger. After double checking that the target ot correctly fastened, I throw it. _Bullseye._

I throw again. Not quite so spectacular, but it would still be a fatal throw. In my eyes, that's something that can be dealt with. After all, a dead tribute is still just a dead tribute, no matter how they died.

"I see you're preparing yourself still, Monique." It's my father's voice, he must've been watching me.

"Yes," I say, putting down the dagger, "I have to stay at the top of my game. I can't fail now."

"You're not going to fail, sweetie. You can do this, I just know it. I've given you extra sessions in weaponry, your mother's taught you the importance of survival skills. You can do this, I know you can."

"Thanks, Dad." I walk to him and hug him. I want to remember him and Mom and Dorry and Selma when I'm in the arena. Happy thoughts and memories will be worth a million times their ordinary value then.

* * *

 _Darryn Allain, 14, Third Male (District 4)_

"Good morning," I say to the girl in front as I enter the queue. I've never seen her before in my life, but it's important to be polite. I'll be stuck in this line for a while, and I don't want to create any awkward tension where it isn't necessary.

"Hi," she says. She blushes. "I'm, um... I'm Lydia."

"Darryn. Nice to meet you."

"You too," she says twirling her hair. "You're kinda cute."

My eyes widen and I think of my best friend Leander - he'd love the attention from a girl as pretty as her. _Leander._ If only he knew...

"It's, um... nice day, isn't it?"

"Not particularly." She grimaces. "Why the topic change?'

"It's just that, um..." _And there's the awkwardness you were trying to avoid! Great job, Darryn. Really great job..._

"I'm gay," I blurt out.

"Oh," she says."Well, um... got any hot friends?"

"Yes." _But not that you can have - he's mine. Well, I wish he was mine, at least..._

"Well, if I see you around after the reaping, I'll have to ask about your friend, hm?"

"You won't see me. I'm volunteering."

The girl raises her eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young for that, hm? You're, what? Fifteen?"

"Fourteen."

"Yeah, well don't you usually wait until at least sixteen?"

"In a Quarter Quell, all rules change. Surely you know that..."

"True," she says, and that's the last I see of her. She's called up to the desk. _Well, she wasn't very pleasant._

I walk into the square and there's very few people. I position myself close to the path to the stage. I want to be in the prime position to volunteer.

Rosenna Mayhow steps onstage and I tut. She's awfully old for a Career district escort. Usually they'd have been moved down or released by now, and she doesn't seem anything special enough to keep on. Maybe it's just luck.

The treaty of treason takes _forever_ \- it seems to get longer and longer each year. The content is always the same, but Mayor Llyons is getting old now, so his speech is probably a bit slower too.

Miss Mayhow takes her spot centre stage once again, and goes on and on about how lucky we all are to be here. Honestly, I couldn't care less about her speech - I just want to get around to volunteering.

* * *

 _Kozuki Shamiko, 15, Second Female (District 4)_

All that's on my mind is Ko. _Is he all right alone in the crowds? Is he safe?_ When I took him on, it never occured to me that I would ever have to abandon him. I've always just wanted to be a good big sister to him.

The first girl is being chosen now, and I inhale. I won't know her more than likely, but I always feel sorry for them. "Amelia Ayrecroft, come up here, dear." I exhale - I don't know her.

"I volunteer as tribute." A tall girl with a blonde pixie cut struts onstage, and gives a radiant smile to the cameramen. The Capitol will like her, that's for sure. "I'm Monique Zale."

"Nice to meet you, Monique. Next we have-" she says before going to the bowl. "-we have Kozuki Shamiko!" _She did not just say my name._ "Kozuki, come onstage..." _She did just say my name. Holy crap._

After taking a deep breath, I am composed enough to walk onstage calmly.

"Lovely!" the escort calls when I am standing beside her. "Now..." she says, selecting the final female slip. As she does so, I stare out into the crowds. It's intimidating, I feel like I'm hyperventilating, and I can't see Ko. This is an absolute nightmare.

Ally Johnson is the name that is called. Though she looks nothing like me, I can tell that we're very much alike right now. She looks how I feel, she seems extremely scared. Maybe I'll be able to cope with her.

For the first boy, it's some kid called Troye who volunteered. I'm not sure why he volunteered, I'm not sure he said. I wasn't paying very much attention past his name. I'm still trying to see Ko amongst the crowd. Will he even manage to visit me afterwards, not knowing where to go to do so? Does he understand what's happening? Will he cope all alone out there?

I guess the last one's an answer I'll never find out, but with a bit of luck I might get to discover the answer to the first two - I might get to see him in the justice building, to say my goodbyes.

I've been too lost in thought that another boy is already on his way to the stage. The way he is presenting himself, his mannerisms... well _they_ all suggest he's a regular Career, but there is a certain nervousness in his voice when he says, "Sebastian Renier," and I can see the formation of a bruise happening on the right side of his face - the side nearest to me.

I don't know what it is, but I think I'll have to ask him sometime.

It's the final tribute now, and I've finally composed myself enough inside to pay the reaping my full attention.

"Finally, we have Adam James!"

"I volunteer." The boy scurries onstage, and grins. "Darryn Allain. Nice to meet you, Miss Mayhow."

"And you too, Darryn," she says, smiling. _Well, somebody's already choosing favourites..._

We are made to hold hands with the others in the line, and then we are pushed into the justice building.

I look down at my old wristwatch and gulp. Now it's my life that's on a timer.

* * *

 _Troye Pacifica, 18, First Male (District 4)_

Smothering me in her caress, my mother cries, "Oh, my baby! You volunteered - oh, I'm so proud of you, darling, I really am." She releases me and just puts her hands on my shoulders. It's much more bearable. "You've done me proud, yes, yes!" she laughs, her eyes wide and excited.

"Let the boy be, Adrianne. That's quite enough of that," my father says as he sits opposite me. My mother takes a seat next to him, and my brother stands behind. _Typical Neptune, always trying to "be a man" - why can't he just accept that it's perfectly acceptable to let it go sometimes, and just be... well, normal!_ "Now," he says, "you know what you're doing, right?"

"I'm not stupid," I reply, and it's very true. The trainers at the academy told me that I'm more like District 3 than 4 when it comes to intelligence. "Yes, I'm prepared. I mean, I've hardly forgotten all those years of making bombs in the academy already, hm?"

"What if there are no explosives?"

"Then I'll make traps. They always work."

"Very true, son. Well... it seems you're ready for this. I'll let you get on with it, eh?" He gets up at pats me on the back, and then takes me mother's hand and leaves.

"Good luck, Troye," Neptune says with a hint of a smile on his face, and he too leaves.

"Thanks!" I call as he goes.

I'm not alone for long, for Marissa visits me. "Hey, Marissa."

"Hey, Troye. So... no more Caspian for you now!"

"Nope! He can't get to me anymore, thank goodness. When I return, I'll be a victor, and that'll make me his superior. He'll wish he never messed with me..."

Chuckling, Marissa comes over to me and gives me a hug. "You can do this, I believe in you."

"I know I can. You've always been there for me, I know I'll be able to do it. If I couldn't, then I wouldn't have volunteered."

"True," she says. "Look, have you got a token yet?"

"No, bu-"

"Here." She takes off her necklace and passes it to me. "Take this."

"I can't," I say, pressing it in her palm. "It's yours, I can't take it, Marissa."

"Fine, have it your way." Vocally, she sounds grumpy but when I look at her face, she is smiling.

"Are you trying to manipulate me, Marissa?" I joke.

"No," she laughs. "Look, I'll see you soon, okay?"

"See you as soon as I'm back from the arena."

I'm alone for a few minutes, and I'm caught up in my thoughts. _What is life? Is it really as complex as it is made out to be? Are genetics so complicated as we are told? I bet I could simplify it all. Yes... if I just multiply x by pi and divide that all by the cube root of y... then if I add the number of strands of DNA... and if I..._ I could go on like this for hours, but I don't because my trainer arrives.

"You did it, Troye."

"I did, yes." I'm not sure what else he wants me to say.

"Make us proud, yeah? It'd be nice if District Four had a victor two years in a row. A perfect record, when you repeat your success over and over again, without failure. You can be the one that comes home, Troye. You just have to believe in yourself."

"Thanks, Percey."

"No problem. Anyway, I just came to wish you well, so... good luck in there." He goes to leave, and I stare in despair. I'd wanted to talk tactics with him one last time.

"Wait, why are you going already?"

"I'm on a tight schedule. You'll see me again on your return home, okay?" He smiles.

"Okay."

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

As I step on the train, Minny's final words to me echo through my ears.

 _"Oh, Sebastian! I'm so glad you volunteered early for me. Babe, I can't wait to see you competing for your life against those other children!"_

For a girlfriend, she has awfully weird ways of showing me that she loves me. I hold my hand to my cheek. It still hurts from when she hit me before the reaping, even though that was hours ago now.

"Hey!" says a girl as she comes on after me. I turn around, but she's not a tribute like I had expected. It's Laigh Shawne, victor of the 365th Hunger Games.

I've heard the men in the Capitol love her.

"Hi," I say, unsure of what else to do.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, yeah. Well, if you're referring to the weather, that is." _If you're referring to my girlfriend threatening to slit her own throat if I didn't volunteer, then no - that half-terrified the life out of me._

"True. Anyway, why are you still standing by the door? You can't escape, you know. They'd catch you."

I laugh. "I'm not escaping. I'm people watching. You know, watching people go about their everyday lives as they work in the station. Maybe I should ask you the same, hm?"

"Well, if you're asking, then I'll say. I'm waiting for Clodagh. I promised I'd wait for her, but the peacekeepers made me do so inside of the train, so here I am."

"Fair enough."

"Indeed."

There's a silence, but it isn't awkward in the slightest - no, it's more expectant. Like I'm waiting for someone to do something but nobody does. Well, not for a few minutes.

Clodagh Aster appears in the doorway, and she runs straight into Laigh's open arms. If it wasn't for their differing hair colours then anybody could mistake them for sisters. Both are beautiful, and their eyes are a perfect shade of green. Admittedly, Laigh's skin is more tanned, but it could just be because she goes outdoors more.

Who knows, maybe they are secretly related.

"Hey, hey, it'll be okay... sh, it's all right, Clodagh..." I look at Laigh expectedly and she explains, "First year as a mentor. It's always the hardest. Nobody can prepare you for when you see the tribute you'll have to mentor..." _Sounds believable, I guess._ "Everybody knows that you rarely succeed in your first year, and she doesn't want to let her tribute down. It's hard being a victor sometimes." She smiles a sad smile as she adds, "You'll understand one day - if you win."

"Who's her tribute?" I ask out of curiousity.

"The second female, why?" _Well, that Kozuki girl's screwed._

"No reason." I leave her be to console Clodagh, and I walk into the next carriage. When I am in there, I realise that I'm not alone. The others are all here too.

I walk up to the oldest girl and decide to be friendly. "Hello, I'm Sebastian, pleased to meet you."

"Monique," she says in a monotone voice. I offer my hand for her to shake but she puts both of her own behind her back.

Maybe she's not very sociable in general, or maybe she just doesn't like me.

I see cake on a table, and I take a slice on a small china plate, and I eat it in as delicate a manner as I can manage. After helping myself to a second slice and sitting down, Clodagh appears without Laigh in tow, and this time she's smiling.

"Hi, I saw you earlier - in the first carriage. I'm Clodagh," she says.

"Hi, I'm Sebastian. Nice to meet you."

"You too, Seb."

" _Seb?"_

"Yeah, got an issue with that? Seb... I just think it sounds cuter than Sebastian, you know?"

"Fair enough... _Clo."_

The newly nicknamed Clo struggles to supress her giggles and she just lets herself laugh. "I've never been called that before," she explains when she has calmed herself dowm slightly. "It has a nice tone to it, I like it."

"Well, you know who to thank," I say with a grin.

"I sure do! Anyway... have you seen Kozuki? I was going to introduce myself, but I don't know where she is."

"Not anymore, but I seem to recall her being in here earlier."

"Oh, that's okay then. I'll find her later - I'm kinda tired anyway. Mind if I sit by you? Just, the sofa's much more comfortable than the mahogany chairs, right?"

"I haven't tried, but it's probably true. I'll just take your word for it, Clo."

"You didn't answer my question, so I'm guessing it's fine," she says as she sits by me.

"Why would I have an issue with you sitting next to me on a sofa designed for multiple people? That seems foolproof to me."

Raising her eyebrow, she says, "Yeah, but my district partner was an arsehole and he wouldn't share."

"Sounds... unpleasant."

"Yeah, well there's a reason I returned, and not him," she reminds me, and it's true. If the Capitol dislike you then your chances of victory are low. She touches my cheek, and despite it being gentle, I flinch. "What happened to your cheek? It looks like you hit it real bad."

"It was, um... I tripped and fell into a wall." The way I stuttered would have made even the most reasonable excuse sound unrealistic.

"Very funny, now try again. The truth this time."

"I, um... my girlfriend hit me. It's just a little bruise though. I can barely feel it, honest!"

"Don't lie."

"Fine - it hurts. Happy now, Clo? _Are you happy?"_

"Not if you get like that with me, I'm not!"

"Ooh, somebody's having a lovers' tiff..." says the escort with pleasure as she passes.

In unison, Clodagh and I shout back, _"WE'RE NOT HAVING A LOVERS' TIFF!"_

"We're not dating," she says quietly.

"Yeah, I've got a girlfriend."

When she has gone, Clo adds with a whisper, "Some girlfriend you have though. Beating you up."

"Hey! She's still my girlfriend, even if you dislike her. Besides, you've never even met her."

"True. But I doubt I would like her anyway."

"That's true. I don't even like her myself anymore." I sigh, and my eyes well up with tears. "She's just horrible, and she always shouts at me, and hits me, and threatens me, an-" Letting myself sob, my face falls into my hands. "Oh, gosh, why am I telling you this? You probably have enough stress already. It's not fair of me..."

"Yeah, I have a lot of stress, but that's not the point. You'll be all right, you can forget about her now. She can't hurt you in the Capitol," she reminds me as she puts her hand on my back to comfort me.

"Thanks," I say, but I'm not sure why.

"Do you need a hug?"

"Thanks." She hugs me and in the corner of my eye I see Kozuki - the girl Clo was looking for. "Hey, Clodagh? Kozuki just came in."

"She did? Oh, well I need to talk to her then, her being my tribute and all. Still," she says as she looks me in the eye, "if you need to talk, I'm here for you, okay? I don't like seeing people sad."

"Okay. Thanks, Clo."

"No problem!" she calls as she walks off to Kozuki. It's strange to think of how sad she seemed earlier compared to how happy she seems now. But it's none of my business.

She seems sweeter than I had expected from her Games last year though. Who knows, maybe I'll make a friend here? I'd like that.

I realise that my younger counterpart, Darryn Allain, has been sitting silently in the corner for the entire journey until now, with just a book and a pencil. He must be feeling lonely by now, so I go up to him.

"What are you doing?" I ask the silent boy, sitting beside him.

"Nothing much," he says as he slams his sketchbook shut, but not before I see pencil lines.

"You were drawing."

"Yeah... so what if I was?"

"Can I look?" I ask. Looking into my eyes - probably to see if I seem trustworthy - he nods.

"Sure," he says as he re-opens the book. On the first page there is a well-drawn sketch of a boy who resembles him and some other people. It must be Darryn's family. He turns the page and I see a boy who is smiling. Darryn looks at it with longing, but I think there's some hurt in his eyes too. Maybe I'm imagining that last bit.

"Who is he? Your boyfriend or something?" I ask.

"If only..." he mutters under his breath, and I don't know if I was meant to hear it. _So I wasn't imagining his hurt._ "That's Leander. My best friend."

"Oh."

"Yeah..." he says, and he quickly turns the page of the little book. We look through it together, and he smiles whenever I compliment his ability to draw.

I think I'm going to get along with this guy just fine.

* * *

 _Ally Johnson, 14, Third Female (District 4)_

"Ally, be quiet!" she shouts, and I try to stop my wimpering. The thing is, the wax on my legs really hurts, and I don't like it. The pain is rather unbearable...

"Aargh!" I scream as they rip off more hair from my legs. "Are you trying to kill me or something?"

"No, we're trying to help you look pretty... for when someone else kills you."

I frown. "Aren't you supposed to tell me I'm going to do fine, that I can make it out alive if I just believe or something?" They turn to one another and shrug. She laughs as her male companion opens his mouth to talk.

"Probably. Like we care about that though. You're going to _die_ and I couldn't give a shit, quite frankly."

"Well, that's not very nice of you!"

"It's not, you're right. But I find that being candid is better than being friendly, don't you think, Seline?"

"Indeed," she responds with a grin. _Wow, they really hate me._

I start to quietly hum a song I knew as a child, and they glare at me for doing so as they apply mascara, but I ignore it. So what if they disapprove? I need to distract myself.

They just storm out, leaving me with only half of my face made up. I stare into the mirror for a while, and then I pick up something called a 'lipstick'. Based upon its name, I guess it must be for my lips. I open it and it's a solid stick of crimson paste. I touch the point to my bottom lip and discover that it leaves a dark red mark, and I suddenly realise how men and women in the Capitol get the colour on their mouths. They must use lipstick.

I trace the edges of my lips with it, and then carefully colour them in. They look pretty - if I get out alive then I think I would like to buy some, in this exact colour.

I pick up the mascara wand, and go to mimic what they did on the other eye, but I stop myself. I'm scared I'll poke my eye out.

A pretty young woman walks into the room. "Oh, my! What did they do to you!" she exclaims when observing my face. "This is... this is just..." She composes herself, and takes a deep breath before starting again. "Okay, so you need eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara on your right eye, and another coat of mascara on your bottom left lashes. You need bronzer, though your foundation looks okay. The lipstick's, um... it's quite bad, but I think I can salvage it..." I listen as she goes on insulting my valiant efforts on my lips (which I thought were very good, but apparently not), obviously thinking my prep team did it, until I interrupt her.

"I did my lipstick, sorry. I've never done it before, but I thought it would be wise to try to do my own if the team would just go off like that."

"They just left, did they?"

"Yes."

"Hm. It wouldn't surprise me, he was always a little too temperamental."

"You think?" I joke. "I hate him."

"I'm not his biggest fan either," she says with a genuine smile at me. "Look, for a first attempt you didn't do an awful job. I can fix it, it's all right..."

I just nod along as she speaks about her life in the Capitol and fixes my face, and I know I will like her. She seems nice.

"And... done!" she announces with a final sweep of bronzer. I look in the mirror, and I really do look something special.

"Thank you."

"No problem. It's not your fault they messed up their jobs. Now, let me get your gown..."


	7. District 5

_Delta Joule, 17, First Female (District 5)_

I wrap my arms around my mother like I'm just a small child once again. It's rare that we ever get to spend any time together, and I'm cherishing the moments we do get - like now, on the morning of the reaping. See, most people see the whole day as a bad thing, but I only see the outcome as a disaster. What's to stop everybody from enjoying the rest of the day? Only their own reservations, I think.

There's hardly a national instruction to be miserable, is there?

Out of the window I can see the Johnson family opposite, all sulking in their front room. They have no real need to be solemn, they only have one daughter who is reaping age, and she only took one lot of tesserae. She'll never get picked.

The odds are more in her favour than they ever have been and ever will continue to be in mine.

"Mom?" I say, looking at her with a slight smile.

"Yes, Delta, what is it?"

"When are Pa and Aiden and Anthony coming back?"

"Honey, I don't know. They've gone for a walk, that's all. It's perfectly legal to do, nothing's going to happen to them. They're just making the most of the rare bit of time they have together, like with you and I."

"I guess."

"You're quite lucky, in a sense, since you actually work in the same place as Anthony. Not that many girls get to spend much time with their brothers at your age."

"You've got a point. Minerva never really sees her sister, and Diana doesn't even have a brother or sister! Still, she has Minerva and I, and that's enough, right?"

She laughs her genuine laugh and nods. "Of course it is. You girls are almost inseparable these days."

"Haven't we always been like that though?"

"Very true, honey." She kisses me on my forehead and I hear the door opening.

"We're back!" comes my father's voice, and I get up to greet the rest of my family once again. Yes, Mom and Pa might not always be able to be there, but I wouldn't trade them for the world.

* * *

 _Scintillaea Ardor, 15, Second Female (District 5)_

"Hey, Aestus," I say as I get into the ever-shrinking line. District 5 is all about efficiency, and I'm grateful for that on cold days like today.

"Hi, Scin." I smile. "Who's more likely to be reaped today, do you think? You... or me?"

"Goodness only knows. Neither, hopefully."

"Could be both."

"Don't even say that. It could be any of us," I say.

"Could be."

"I'd rather it be me than Favillae, if one of us happened to be reaped, you know?"

"Yeah," he says, but at the same time I hear another voice approach me from behind.

"Rather you what than me, Scin?"

"Nothing," I say.

"The reaping," Aestus says. I feel like I could slap him but he must've conveniently managed to disappear, knowing how easily I can lose my temper.

"Neither of us are going to get reaped, Scin. We'll both be fine, there are tonnes of other girls. Trust me, it just won't be us."

"What if it is though? It could be as easily you or I as anybody else in this district, you do realise?"

"Yeah, except some of those will have a lot more tesserae. Yeah, we both took out as much as we could, but we had to and there will be girls with bigger families than us who had to take it out for all of them."

"That's true, I guess. You're right."

"Aren't I always?" Favillae says as she reaches the desk.

We take out places in the square just in time, for soon Aggie Linwort is onstage for the frivolities of the occasion. Well, I think she intends for it to be at least mildly serious but she just goes on and on and she may as well be talking a complete load of utter crap, so we all treat it like a frivolity - even if it isn't.

Finally, she and the mayor have finished their nonsense, and the tragic action eventually begins...

* * *

 _Nomi Spark, 12, Third Female (District 5)_

When the name Delta Joule is selected I cannot help but feel slightly jealous. Yes, she isn't even in my age bracket, but she has the chance to go to the Capitol and become a famous actress. Who knows, if she becomes the 'victor' after 'killing' the other 'tributes', she could be really popular for many years to come.

She has no reason to look so solemn. Why she sounds breathless and drags her feet behind her, I shall possibly never find out.

Delta's male counterpart is named Stevie Volt, and he looks fairly plain to me. I doubt the Capitol will let him win and have the acting career. No, they'll probably make him pale into the background once he escapes from the arena. It's a shame how only one 'tribute' gets to become a famous actor afterwards. It'd be nicer if they were all allowed to, it'd be more fun for everybody if they weren't competing with each other so much. Maybe it would be a happier show because of it.

It's interesting how frequently the 'tributes' try to pale into the background, or break down crying. There's really no point, even if they don't want to be famous. Should I ever be reaped, I should be so very happy. Not that I want that quite enough to volunteer, because an awful lot about your life is revealed, but I would hardly complain. You still get a comfortable life afterwards.

Scintillaea Ardor is relatively calm (well, she looks in utter disbelief, but she isn't running) about her own reaping, but when the boy her age - Aestus Woodford - is reaped, the experession on her face turns to one of pure terror. Aestus himself - well, he just goes from shocked to scared, and then back to being at ease. I mean, I know it's acting, but I'm pretty sure the point isn't to show all the different faces you can pull at once. _I don't think he'll win the career,_ I think with a small laugh. I wish I could lighten the mood here, everybody's so strangely sad.

The escort goes to my own bowl and I purse my lips. Who knows what name is on that slip she just chose? It could easily be any of us. "Nomi Spark."

 _Oh my gosh, yes! I'm going to be a famous actress,_ I think as I giggle, and I honestly cannot believe my good fortune. I flip my hair in the same way that I see girls in Capitol sitcoms do so, and I skip onstage.

She must really love her job, since she has been in every series of the show 'Hunger Games' for as long as I can remember. Imagine that: a main role in a seemingly eternal series. It must be absolute bliss.

I try to look flawless as I keep smiling out at the audience. Mommy is in the background, and she is in tears. I wonder why she doesn't want me to be a celebrity - it's every girl's dream, and I'm extraordinarily lucky to get this golden opportunity. Silly, overprotective Mommy, always trying to hold me back because I'm too young for something. But I don't think you can ever be too young to start off your career.

Little Percy Diggory is the only 'tribute' I get to see come onstage from this particular angle, and he too looks terrified like all the others. I wonder what their issue could possibly be. I mean, five youths cannot all have stage fright, can they?

He is shaking all over, and I feel sorry for him. I wish I could give him some of my confidence, but that's impossible.

* * *

 _Percy Diggory, 12, Third Male (District 5)_

"Oh, my baby!" Mommy screams as she runs into the room, immediately embracing me in her arms. I can hear her sniffles as she rests her head on my shoulders.

"It's okay, Mommy, Daddy," I say as I hug my mom back, and smile at my sad father. "I'll be okay."

"But, my baby! You're my baby, they can't just... take you!' she chokes, and I remain silent.

"They just did, but I'm going to be okay."

"What if they kill you!" she wails, and the look on my father's face shows how he is helpless.

"Then so be it. I know that's going to happen, I can accept that. On the bright side, I'll get to try the life of luxury before that happens."

She smiles a sad but sympathetic smile. "Yes, you will. I'm sure they'll treat you nicely when you're staying in the Capitol."

"I know they will, Mommy," I say, and I know how likely the truth in that is. The Capitol love their tributes, they're sure to treat us kindly.

"Yes, yes!" she cries, and she kisses me on the cheek like she does every night when I'm going to sleep. She's a lovely mother.

"Son, you'll be okay. Just keep believing in yourself, and try to keep your morals up whenever it's possible, okay?" my father mutters. He claps me on the back and I wrap him and Mommy into a group hug.

"I love you guys..."

"And we love you too, Percy," is all my father can say.

When they go, a small tear comes to the corner of my eye and I struggle to hold it back. It hurts that it's the last time I will ever see them, but I try not to dwell. That would just get me down, whereas I should instead try to make the most of the life I've been given.

Though I would have never have expected it, a group of people walk through the door. Adam, Martin, Robbie, Elisa, Anne... they're all here to send me off. All of my friends from the factory are here, every single one of them!

"Hey," I say. They smile and wave back, and hug me one by one. It's all they get time to do before they are escorted away, but I'm glad that I got to see them again anyway.

* * *

 _Aestus Woodford, 15, Second Male (District 5)_

Nomi's still parading about like she owns the place. It's all a bit ridiculous, if you ask me. She's twelve years old, and she can't possibly even be five foot tall yet. Goodness only knows why she thinks the Hunger Games can ever be a good thing to be in, especially at her tender age, and with the number of tributes this year.

"So... how are we going to deal with the Careers?" I ask Scin, but the horrifically ignorant little girl jumps over to us.

"Yes, yes! Let's discuss our future careers now we're going to the Capitol!" she squeals in absolute delight. In all honesty, I'm not entirely sure she understands the concept behind the Hunger Games. I'll have to tell her later, but I might wait until she comes off her happiness high before I break the news of her impending death to her.

I doubt the child would pay any attention anyway.

"Well, um..." I start, desperately willing Scin to get me out of here somehow, but she remains silent. Thankfully, one of the victors unknowingly saves me from her naïvité.

Sofee beckons Nomi over to her, and it surprises me so I listen in. I know I really shouldn't be doing this, but they're not allowed to punish me for my wrongs so I really couldn't give a damn about what social expectations say. Not anymore, at least.

"Are you aware of any relatives you have called, I don't know... say, Kathy Flare?"

"No, but I know Mommy used to be Flare until she married Daddy. Why?"

"Nothing really, I just mentored a girl many years ago, not so long after my own Games, and she looked a lot like you."

Nomi's eyes brighten like little blue fireworks as she asks, "Can I see a picture of her? I never knew I was a lookalike for somebody famous..."

"Sure you can, I'll get someone to send a photograph to our district's apartment after the parade. But she isn't famous anymore."

"Why not? What happened?"

"Oh, she died."

Looking at the floor and fidgeting her fingers, she timidly says, "That's really sad. Mommy would be very upset that she died, she hates people dying. It makes her cry a lot, Daddy has to get her tissues..."

Sofee goes to respond but Nomi is already at the window because the city is coming into view. Scin goes to another window and I come along too. "It's pretty, right?"

"Yeah..." she whispers. Though it may be quiet, her voice has the same quality as always - soft, like her words are caught up in a non-existant breeze...

* * *

 _Stevie Volt, 17, First Male (District 5)_

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Like what?" the young girl asks.

"Like you've never seen a guy naked before! You were the one who asked me to strip off - not me."

She frowns. "Actually, I haven't. I'm a lesbian."

"You're a- oh. I guess that's sensical."

"You bet it is." She flips her hair and sighs. "Where the heck is Antonius when you need him? He only said he was going to get some scissiors that actually work, but he's taken forever, wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose."

"Oh, well we'll have to leave your hair for now then. I can't cut hair for the life of me, my dear."

"Okay."

"Good. Now, I'm going to find him. You be a good boy whilst you wait for your stylist, won't you?" she calls as she exits, and I just know it is rhetorical and not for me to respond to. So I don't.

A young guy walks into the room and I can't believe my luck when he says, "Hello, I'm Asrad. I'm your stylist." _Well, a bit of eye candy couldn't possibly hurt me._

"Stevie."

"You've got a nice body."

"Thank you," I say, smugly. "I bet yours isn't too bad yourself."

"You have a lot of confidence for an outer district tribute, I must say."

"Why shouldn't I? What makes me so different to a tribute from District 2? Yes, my background varies slightly, but it doesn't make me an invalid. Just an underdog, and underdogs win plenty enough."

"Ooh, a fighter! I like it!" he says with a grin. "We'll see what we can make of you, shall we?" He examines my body one final time before chucking me an ink black bath robe. "Let's get you something to wear, eh? I think we can make a good impression of you, honey." _Honey? Well, if that's what gets me sponsors..._

"Glad to hear that, Asrad."

"Here!" I catch a bag he throws at me and take out the black patent shoes. Not my usual style, but nothing horrific. Maybe District 5 will look okay this year after all.


	8. District 6

_Rhoena Lyter, 18, First Female (District 6)_

"Rhoena!" my father calls.

"What is it?" I say, jogging over.

"Another girl. You'll be sorting out her new identity." I look at the girl - tall, muscular, and black. She looks nothing like a kid from District 6, but I daren't disobey my father - the infamous Terrence Lyter.

"Sure, dad," I say, but I'm feeling sceptical about how easily this one will be accepted as someone who is from here. "Where are you from?" I ask the girl.

"District 6," she says with a wicked grin. I grimace.

"No, I mean originally."

"Oh, District 8."

"District 8, huh... hey, I thought District 8 was okay!"

"It depends what circles you're in," she mutters with a frown.

"Oh." I really don't want to ask any more questions, I already don't like this particular girl. But to make her a new identity, I'm going to have to.

I walk over to this week's records, and ask her, "Age."

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen..." I look at the files aged seventeen to twenty-one, and there are very few unreported to the peacekeepers. "What's your real name?"

"Woole Marten," she whispers in the way you would tell only your darkest secrets.

"Okay," I say, seaching for a name which is remotely similar. In the end, the closest I can find is a twenty-year-old called Ophelia Cartwright, and I decide she's the best option since she lived in a remote community anyway, and that means not many people will recognise the name.

I copy up all the notes about the real Ophelia's life and I go to pass them to Woole when I remember to ask her for her payment. "What did you bring in exchange?"

"This." She takes the bag off her back and I look through the contents. It's full of fine cloth and thread - not gold or rubies, but still worth a lot of money. I pass her the file, suddenly liking her a whole lot more.

"You can read, I presume."

"Of course I can."

"Good. You'll have to read that through thoroughly," I say before telling her directions to the house she will be staying in, which is on the other side of the district to the real Ophelia's home to avoid any trouble. "So, be on your way!" I tell her with a smirk before walking back to my house so I can clean myself and put on a nice dress before the reaping.

When I get home, I put the bag on the kitchen table alongside a scrawled note and the file I used so that nobody can reuse the identity. I then go to the chest full of my mother's things and take out a dress and some shoes. They're no nicer quality than mine, but they've been used less so they look like they are. That's what makes them perfect for a reaping.

 _My mother_. I still miss her, though I'd never say. Drugs are a dangerous business, everyone who sells them is bound to die sometime - I know that. It doesn't mean I don't feel anything about her death though. I'm not heartless.

I scrub myself in the steel bathtub full of cold water, and change into the dress. I look a mess, but not as much as I did. I don't look like part of the mafia anymore, at least.

* * *

 _Sherman Locke, 18, First Male (District 6)_

"...and it really must be said that it is all very ridiculous, in my moat humble opinion, for there was no real purpose for her actions. Don't you agree? Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you agree!"

The girl awkwardly steps from one foot to another and purses her lips momentarily. "Did, um... did anybody ever tell you how annoying you are?"

"My father did when I was younger, but we don't really talk much now."

"Yeah, well I can see why," she says, walking away.

Huh, I thought I was being rather pleasant company. I obviously failed to read the social signs once again, how positively dumb of me.

I shudder at the thought of having anything at all in common with dumb people, the common little shits. Being a commoner isn't anybody's aspirations in life.

People like me are the ones who will truly get somewhere. We have goals and dreams. Personally, mine are few but the ones I have are big. The first is to rid the world of my girlfriend's killer. The second is to remain sober. The third is to gain recognition for my intelligence which is so far superior to most of District 6.

The desk takes a reasonable amount of time to reach, and I find an optimal place to stand and watch the reaping - right in the centre of the crowd, where I can still manage to hide away if I need to.

Karima opens her mouth to talk and all that I can see are her abnormally white teeth. They're actually horrible, but she seems happy with her appearance for some crazy reason.

The mayor reads out the Treaty of Treason without even trying to sound a little bit interested, and then they take their seat by Clara and Emereth again. Who knows? This year coild be very interesting! I, for one, cannot wait.

* * *

 _Leone Strauss, 16, Second Male (District 6)_

"Since all the technicalities and such are sorted... now for the best reaping ever! District 6's first tribute is... Rhoena Lyter! Come onstage, Rhoena!" Though Rhoena is older, she looks average. Slightly scared, even. Maybe she has a secret or something which could help her. I hope so, it would be nice to have a victor again, though I doubt it will happen this year when there are so many tributes.

"Kiora Plessant!" Again, another timid girl, except Kiora's actually pretty - unlike Rhoena, who is average, if you ask me.

"Deliah Saunders!" she exclaims, a smile lighting up her face.

Deliah races onstage, rage plastered all over her pretty face, and hits our escort around the face. There are gasps all around me, but l'm silent, my eyes widening. _This is brilliant,_ I think as she pushes Karima to the floor and kicks her over and over again until two peacekeepers grab her and drag her away. She kicks them and tries to punch them but their suits mean they feel nothing, even when she digs her right heel into the shorter one's balls. It looks painful, but he's covered in metal.

If they were made of a material any weaker I would have already killed three or four at least by now, the men should count themselves lucky.

I quickly push the thought from my mind. _Stop thinking about murdering people, Leone. You've killed too much already. You'll never wipe their blood from your hands._

Her hands are cuffed behind her back and they insist on holding onto her anyway - for fear that she'll kick someone again if not, most likely. I like this girl already, I'm sure she'll be interesting in the arena.

Karima is helped up and she tries to act like she wasn't just physically assaulted by a little girl, but she's blushing so much she is red all over, and a small patch by her jaw is turning multicoloured - the start of a bruise. "Sherman Locke," she coughs.

A boy walks onstage and my smile turns into a frown. It's _only_ the boy who found the body of the girl I burned - Adele or something - and he looks distraught. Now I'll get to see him also die.

What an undeniably happy ending... not. I sigh - I really should feel relieved that his face won't ever haunt me again once he's no longer walking around the streets of my district, but I don't. I feel a bit sorry for him.

Then it's the next name: "Leone Strauss!" and I can't believe how this is turning out. It's all so horrible... I'll be able to act upon my instincts and nobody will say I've done wrong and it'll all be acceptable.

But is that what I really want? I've spent so long trying to get them to go away, put myself through so much pain... and all for nothing. My choice is kill or die, and I know that, in such a place as the arena, I'll end up killing again.

I won't be able to stop myself.

My whole body tenses up and I can't move. I don't want to die.

But maybe death would be a good thing. Maybe I would be able to forgive myself more if I sacrificed myself. I start to cry. I've brought this upon myself, I thoroughly deserve every bit of hell I go through in there. It's my punishment for all my wrongdoings in life, and it's one as horrible as I deserve.

Nobody like me deserves to live, as involuntary as the whole thing is. I should die and rot in hell. I _need_ to die and rot in hell to ever be able to get close to forgiving myself.

I walk onstage and avoid looking at Sherman's face. He knows. He _must_ know what I've done. I'm not sure how but I'm sure he can tell somehow.

"You're sleeping with the head peacekeeper," a voice beside me says, and I turn to see Sherman talking to the escort. I turn away quickly - I don't want to look at his face. What I did was wrong. "Yes, you are. You're sex crazed and you're pregnant, aren't you? You've got all the signs. And you... you, Rhoena, you're criminal. You're a people smuggler, aren't you? Drug trafficking-" He stutters, like it's almost something personal. Maybe it is. "-people smuggling... it's written all over your face. Huh. Typical."

He starts to pace around the stage, and I begin to panic. What if he announces what I did? He can probably tell from my face, but I don't want everybody to know, even if he does. How will I get allies if I have a killer reputation? It just won't happen!

"...Kiora, something's wrong in your life. Not with you personally, a family member or friend maybe... an illness... yes, that's it. Now, Deliah, you're... huh, you're in a gang. Great... two gang members as district partners, Rhoena and Deliah. Damn, that's new. And then finally onto Leone..." he says, and all my muscles in my chest tighten even more than I knew they could and I can't breathe, I can't breathe. "...you're torn up with regret, and I know why, you absolute bastard, you-" he screams, and a peacekeeper knocks him out before he gets to finish. I exhale, overcome with relief. Until now I always wondered why there were so many peacekeepers at the reaping, but today I can fully see why. It's manic.

He is dragged by his feet into the justice building and the peacekeeper does not return. I wonder what they'll do to him, but I suppose we'll all find out later. The peacekeepers with Delaih also seem to think that it's a good idea, and she is taken away too.

Right now, he's no longer on everyone's mind. Karima is. She's nowhere to be seen, and it's like a riot. Everywhere, there is uproar.

Eventually, one of our victors - Clara Donoghue - steps up to the microphone. "Right, well it's evident Karima's ran off somewhere, and I doubt she's going to be coming back any time soon, no thanks to Sherman. Anyway, this is just ridiculous, so I'll just do it myself to save the hassle." She goes to the bowl, takes a slip, and returns to Karima's podium with no flourishes or nonsense at all. "Malachi Kinch," she reads in a bored tone. "Just come onstage, you're the tribute."

Malachi does just that, he comes onstage. "See? Everything's calm again. It wasn't really worth the panic, was it?"

There's silence and the crowd look at Clara expectantly. "What? I'm not a trained escort, I don't know how to do any of this! Um... here are your tributes?" she says without conviction, but we all know it's true nonetheless. At least five of us will die, and there are more Careers than ever. District 6 will never manage to get a victor this time, unless the girls' gangs fight with knives or something.

Clara walks into the justice building and the remaining four of us follow her, all wondering what is about to happen to us now Karima's run away.

* * *

 _Kiora Plessant, 16, Second Female (District 6)_

Clara takes us right through the building and to the cars. "Get in," she says.

"What?" I gasp.

"I said get in, we're on a tight schedule."

"B- but what about my family? Don't I get to say goodbye?"

She shoots me a sympathetic look and says, "Ordinarily, yes. Because of all the issues today, no. There's no time, we'll miss the train if we're not at the station in half an hour and the journey there will take about twenty-five minutes."

"So... what about the other five?"

"Darling, there's no time."

"B- but... but I haven't done anything wrong! My dad's ill and even if I do win I doubt I'll ever get to see him again, and I don't know how Mom will cope! Oh, please, Clara, _please_ let me see my mother, I'll be quick." My eyes fill with tears and I have to choke out my next few sentences, but I manage. "Please, just one minute. Just so I can pass on a message to the rest of my family, so I can say goodbye. I want them to know that I love them, please..."

Clara inhales deeply, and I know she feels sorry for me because she says, "Fine. I can try to get you maybe thirty seconds or so, but no promises. They'll kill me if I miss the train alongside a tribute."

"That's fine, that's fine! I can be quick!"

"Okay, come with me then." She grabs my wrist and drags me behind her as she rushes past the peacekeepers, through the building and back onto the stage, and she doesn't let go. "Mrs Plessant? Are you there?"

"Yes!" comes a cry in the distance, and I can hear my mother's voice loud and clear. She runs up towards the stage and Clara lets me run down to her on the steps, following me a few seconds behind.

We hug, and behind me Clara says, "Thirty seconds, remember?" I nod.

"Look, Mom, I just had to tell you that I love you. Oh, there was so much else I wanted to say but gosh, it's gone now, and I don't have the time anyway."

"Oh, Kiora, it doesn't matter. It's just a moment with you, and that's enough for me. I glad I got to see you again, my baby..." Mom cries, and my tears worsen as she does.

"Oh, Mom, please remember me... no matter what, you'll remember me, won't you?"

"I could never forget you, darling, _never..._ "

I hug her again, and whisper, "Tell the others I love them for me, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I love you so much, Kiora, remember that in there..." she whispers back, and as much as I want to make the second last forever I know that I'm already far over what Clara specified for time and I have to let go.

"Come on," she says, and I do so - but not before looking back. I see my mother mouthing 'thank you' and I see my mentor smile sadly and nod back. When she breaks into a sprint, I obediently do the same, and jump straight into the car in the seat behind her and next to Leone.

No matter what happens, I'll always be grateful to Clara for that last encounter.

* * *

 _Malachi Kinch, 13, Third Male (District 6)_

"Where are the others, Clara?" I hear one of the girls ask.

"Well, the peacekeepers thought it best to isolate them from the rest of you. So they're elsewhere on the train, like how they were in a different car before."

"Oh," she says.

"Yeah. It's weird, but I understand why. Besides, I guess it should be easier for Emereth and I to keep track of you if there are only four."

"That's true," the girl - Kiora, I think - says, and she walks away. I run up and take her place beside Clara.

"When are we getting a new escort?" I ask her, breathless.

"Been running, have you?"

"Yeah..."

"Might want to work on your stamina, sweetie. That wasn't more than ten metres, in an arena you'd be dead." _Great, what a way to put even more of a downer on my day._ "But in answer to your question, I'm not sure. Heck, I don't know if we'll get one at all - most favours will have been called in for stylists and prep teams and such. It might just be Emereth and I from now onwards."

"Wait," calls a girl near me, "are you saying that Karima's not returning?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Rhoena. Exactly what I'm saying. Now, if you could just let me through, I must talk with Emereth about how to control Deliah in the Capitol..." Clara says, and she goes.

I expect an awkward silence, but that's not what I get. "I think we should go and listen in on what they're saying," a male voice says, but when I'm about to answer I see Rhoena and Leone walk off in that direction. I guess I'm alone for now. Unless...

I begin to walk towards them, but Rhoena says, "That's such a boring conversation," and the two come back. I decide to sit alone instead, not wanting to make the first move in case the two of them decide they don't want to talk to me. Besides, they're much older than me anyway - maybe I'll just have to make my friends in the Capitol, with other younger tributes from different places.

Maybe it's for the best that I have some time to be alone with my thoughts. After all, it's quite a lot to take in. The prospect of my imminent death, to begin with...

I sigh. Why did this happen to me? I mean, as far as I am aware I have not done anything to warrant dying. I mean, I'm thirteen years old, for goodness' sake!

I'm a good boy, I promise. I've never acted out of malice for as far as I can remember. There were so many boys with tesserae, some of them a year older than me. And yet my name - which was in there only twice - was pulled out.

How typical.

I'll never get to see Silas get married. I'll never get to see if Lars manages to become a train conductor someday. I'll never get to see anything that happens to my family and friends, because I won't be alive to do so.

The tears run down my face and fall on my lap, soaking my trousers, but I couldn't care less. It's completely okay to cry at times like this. Besides, it won't effect me in the long term because I no longer have a long term. I've always hated the Hunger Games, though I've never voiced my opinion so that can't be why I was reaped, and now they are claiming me.

 _Don't worry, you won't feel any pain,_ I try telling myself, but I know it isn't true at all. Bloodbath deaths are always some of the worst, and I know that's where I'm going to end up, I just _know_ it.

* * *

 _Deliah Saunders, 14, Third Female (District 6)_

"Is it really necessary to tie me down like this? I mean, I know you're worried I'll kick off or something, but I wouldn't. The most I would do is steal a few bits of mech-" The looks on their faces tell me to shut up. It would have been a pointless plan anyway, never to help me when I'm dead. "Look, I'm not going to attack you. What would be the point in it? You're trying to get me to not die after Karima decided to make me almost certainly die. That's why I attacked her. I don't need to attack you two."

Julius looks at me sympathetically and I think I've succeeded in my plan to be able to move my body a few inches so I don't go all stiff before I'm even a corpse, but he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Deliah, it's the president's orders. We cannot defy them."

 _Argh! So close, and yet so far at the same time._ I sigh. This is going to be a long day, and it's not going to be pretty. In fact, I'm already rather furious, and this is just worsening my mood even more. "Yeah, well you know what? Fuck Blain. Fuck him and all the stupid, ridiculous crap he says, making you idiots here all worship him like he's some godly figure. Well guess what? He's not, and just because you all love him doesn't mean I'm going to just play along and love him too. He's an Absolute Arsehole, with capital 'A's. So will you just respect my wishes, and let me free to wriggle about?"

"No."

"What?" I choke.

"I said no. I can't do that, it goes against my specific orders. Also, I think I speak for both Adela and I when I say that it really isn't appreciated when you talk about President Blain like that. He's a good man, far better than all his predecessors, I think. Wouldn't you agree, Addie?"

"I would, and I would do it with all my heart. He's a wonderful man." She smirks as if to say 'ha! take that' and I feel like punching her. That's something I would do with all _my_ heart. But I can't because of these bloody chains. They really will be bloody in a minute if I get my way. A nosebleed would suit her quite nicely, I do believe. Blood would disguise that horrible green on her lips.

"Glad to know you love him so much - hey, are you two sleeping with him or something since you love him that much?" I spit, and Adela blushes. "Oh," I sneer. "So you're involved with the president of Panem, how lovely. I bet everyone will be interested to hear that spot of news when I have my interview..."

"You wouldn't..." she gasps, going pale. Julius is fuming - the pair are obviously close friends - and a grin full of malice forms on his face as he rips the strip of wax on my leg off very roughly in the complete wrong direction. It stings, and I scream. I bet it's left a nasty red mark, but the restraints mean I can't see my lower body. Talking of the restraints...

"You know, I feel really uncomfortable here. I'm naked in a room with two adults, and there are metal chains securing me to a cold table and I can't move. It's actually rather concerning me for my welfare. I mean, being naked and tied up in chains isn't exactly a good way to feel safe, is it?"

"Here," Adela says, and she loosely throws an empty grey pillowcase over my chest. I glare at her. _Look how much that did - vir_ _tually nothing at all._

"Thanks," I say through gritted teeth. I hope they both realise how little honesty was in that word.

By the time they go I feel ready to explode. My stylist walks in with a keyring full of keys and I just know that they're to finally undo my padlocks on the chains. Maybe I would be willing to calm down, except he is laughing as he unlocks me, and my fury is changing and directing itself at him.

The final chain is removed and I lunge at him, constantly punching his face until he falls. I fall to the hard floor with him, but I'm okay. I'll get a few bruises and that's it. My stylist... he'll live, but his face might be pretty nasty for a few days. He'll be blind in his left eye if I'm lucky, I punched him pretty hard there.

Right now, I just want to get out of here so I storm out of the room and into the corridor. When I look down at myself... well, that's when I realise that I'm still entirely naked.

I storm back into the room on a mission to find some clothes. I forgot to wait for him to collect my outfit so that's useless now. Instead, I have to prop up his unconscious body and take his pristine white blazer. I put in on and tie it at the waist with one of my chains to make a kind of dress. Hopefully it just looks modern.

I look in the mirror to check that it covers me enough and it does - just. Thank goodness I'm so short.

With my backcombed hair and white jacket, I look like a mad scientist. Probably more appropriate for District 5 than District 6, but it's no worse than some chariot outfits I've seen in the past. I'll be fine.


	9. District 7

_Lennon Chai, 17, First Female (District 7)_

"And these girls? Yeah, well they was singi-"

"Were. It's always were for they," I interrupt, my voice shaking. My nerves are getting the better of me yet again.

"They _were_ singing some weird tune, it sounded really upbeat and just outright- well, I'm not sure what exactly! It was just really, really strange. I didn't feel safe right then - it felt almost like they weren't supposed to be singing it, and yet they still sang. A little risky, if I may say so myself," cousin Josephine finishes. I pretend I'm interested, though I really haven't the faintest clue what she is on about. It all just sounds like her usual nonsense to me - all made up to make her seem more interesting. It's just attention seeking, that's all it is.

I quietly slip out of the room and head for the meadow. There are a few trees in the middle, and they're ever so fun to climb. I've done it ever since I was a little child, when I used to strive to reach the top. So far, I've made it to the top of all but one. The one I haven't managed is by no means the tallest of the lot, but the branches are more spaced out.

I have two hours to kill before I need to get ready for the reaping, and it seems like the perfect opportunity to try to reach my goals. Most children are still asleep or they're with their families, so I'm one of the only ones here. Well, besides the peacekeepers of course, but they're only here to patrol the fences a few hundred metres away, and none of us would ever dare to even go within thirty metres of there. We would be dead within seconds, that's for certain.

I start to gradually make my way up, and as I go higher and higher I can see more and more of the district. It's just all slum for as far as the eye can see. No wonder Capitol citizens prefer District 4, with its alleged sandy beaches.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I lose focus of the task at hand. One wrong step, and I lose my footing entirely.

I begin to fall and, somehow, my left hand manages to grab hold of a solid branch. I reach up my other hand and kick my feet about until I find something solid to rest them on.

Looking down, I see that the trunk's bark has scraped my ankle and left it red raw. My mother will have to put a plaster on it when I return home.

 _Home._ That reminds me - I must get ready for the reaping. It must have been at least an hour and a half, and I'll need some extra time to patch up my injury.

* * *

 _Giana Acacia, 14, Third Female (District 7)_

The reaping: an annual event which just leads to the district wishing somebody else was chosen instead of those who were picked. Those who people would really want to be in the Hunger Games are more useless to society, more miserable, more irritating - more... _Azalea._

I turn to my sister twiddling her thumbs beside me, and I roll my eyes at her utter incompetence.

"Azalea, you're a mess," I jeer under my breath, and she glares. "Heck, I bet one day they'll reap you just to take your miserable presence out of this world. I tell you now, _dearest sister_ , District 7 would be a much nicer place with you gone."

"Shut up, Gigi," she mutters meekly, and I stomp on her toes to remind her that I simply _won't_ be doing that. "Ouch. That really hurt..."

"You're so, so welcome," I say with a giggle in my voice and an innocent looking smile plastered on my face. No passersby would ever suspect a thing from me - everything I do, I do in secret.

After all, I'm too young for people to see me in a negative light. It's a brilliant thing, it always works in my favour.

When we're through check-in, she runs through to her section with such pace that anybody could mistake her for a tribute wannabe. I know that she's just trying to escape me, but nobody else does.

When she comes onstage, Samara Hale looks rather stunning. I absolutely adore the dress she is wearing, with its gold and lilac stripes and silver flowers. 'Extreme', some might say, yes. 'Vibrant', others might say. But I think it's lovely, and it's oh-so fashionable as well.

"Hello, hello, District 5!" she calls, and the silver shimmers in the vague sunlight as she turns her body a bit. I wish I could afford a dress like that. Yes, I'm rich compared to others, but I'm not _that_ rich.

The Treaty of Treason is read by my ageing father, and I sigh. Even the Victors, despite their being middle-aged, are clothed in beautiful attire.

It's time for the reaping now, and I stand with baited breath. Though I know that it is unlikely, I can't help but think that it would be wonderful if Azalea was somehow reaped.

Here's to hoping...

* * *

 _Trigg Yggdrasil, 16, Second Male (District 7)_

"For the first of them all, it's Miss Lennon Chai!"

A boy walks out of the girls' section and it looks like there has been a mistake, or that a boy is trying to cover for his sister. Nonetheless, seeing a boy skip onstage is rather weird.

"Hey," Lennon says, clearly trying to sound casual, but you can see he's trying to figure out a strategy inside his head. His voice is quite high-pitched, but not abnormally so.

"You're a girl?" the escort sneers.

"Yes. I am," Lennon replies, feeling a little overprotective of herself. I raise my eyebrows - I wouldn't have thought she was a girl, what with so short a haircut and such boyish attire...

"You don't look like a girl." _There._ The escort's sneering yet again.

"Well, I am, so stop treating me like I'm any different to everybody else." She scowls and folds her arms, looking up at the sky a little.

"Very well then. Next we have... Azalea Acacia! Come along, poppet!"

The mayor's jaw drops and I realise the surname they have in common - _Acacia._

A solemn girl shuffles onstage and nods to the man who I presume is her father. She's cute enough, I suppose, but I bet she'd be trouble. She looks like she would be, at least.

"And now... Giana Acacia!" There is a pained cry from the crowds of young girls, and one of them steps out and walks onstage with inky tears crawling down her face, leaving horrible black circles beneath her eyes. Mascara, I'm betting. She seems to be the mayor's other daughter, so I am sure she would be able to afford it.

"Oh, wow! Siblings!" the escort giggles, and I'm sickened to the core. She's such a naïve idiot, and I'm not sure whether or not anybody will ever bother to properly educate her. "But we must move on - Oliver Hawkins!"

A boy walks onstage with is hands shaking a tiny bit as he tightly grips his grey trousers. He looks surprisingly cool about the whole thing.

"Trigg Yggdrasil!" _What?_

It takes a few moments beofre I realise that things aren't as bad as they seen, that there is hope for everyone. I try to keep a straight face through the final name.

"Asher Elm!" she calls in a jolly voice, and nothing happens until a group of peacekeepers forcibly drag a young boy onstage. It's too violent for my liking, and it means I'm more than happy to get offstage.

* * *

 _Oliver Hawkins, 18, First Male (District 7)_

"Margret, I'm scared."

I know what my parents would probably be thinking right now. If they're anything like Lisa's parents, they would be telling me to man up. But I don't know what they're like, and I never will.

That's where Margret comes in. She adopted me and raised me like I was her own child, and now I feel like I have failed her. I mean, after all she did for me, and all the sacrifices she had to make, I'm just going to go off and get murdered on live television.

Great way to repay her kindness, isn't it? But there isn't much I can do now. All that there is left to do is wait for my eventual demise.

It all sounds awfully... _thrilling._ Or not.

"Oliver, don't be scared. You'll be one of the oldest tributes of them all, you can do this."

"You think?"

She chuckles, and it reminds me of the old times - of the happy times. "I know."

"Thanks," I say with a slight smile. I appreciate the confidence she has in me.

"You can do this, son. Make me proud." _She called me 'son'!_

Now there is no way I can even contemplate letting her down. She needs me, and I must come back home to help her through everything.

"Here, have my necklace," she says as she presses the cool metal into my palm. Maybe it's selfish of me to want to keep it myself, but I have no want to give it back to her. I need the memories, especially when I'm about to enter such a monsteous place as an arena.

* * *

 _Asher Elm, 13, Third Male (District 7)_

My first thoughts when I step onboard the train are just a jumble. It's all so surreal, I can't even believe my eyes.

The tabletops are covered in gorgeously iced cakes and cookies, and there are glasses with drinks in, but they have a funny handle.

"Ah, I see you like the look of the champagne flutes, darling. Well, let me tell you this: it's not real champagne, it's the alcohol-free version, so you can drink as much of it as you wish. You six are the people this feast has been laid out for, after all."

"Um... thanks, I guess," I respond to our escort. Their voice is far too high-pitched and irritating for my liking. "It all looks oh-so delicious..."

"Oh, it is, darling - trust me. It's gorgeous! You see that pale blue cake there? Well, it's like a party inside your mouth, you'll all love it."

"I must eat the whole cake then," I joke, but she doesn't seem to be able to tell this so I literally have to add, "I'm joking."

"Oh. Yeah, well... that's good, yeah..."

Giana storms into the room, and she knocks three of the champagne flutes off the table and onto the floor. Seconds are what it takes me to react to the situation at hand. But I'm not sure even milliseconds would have been enough, because they smash seemingly immediately.

"Crap!" I hear a peacekeeper shout, but I ignore the foul-mouthed comment. Instead, I take a slice of the cake, walk to the window, and eat it slowly as the city comes into view.

It's magnificent.

* * *

 _Azalea Acacia, 16, Second Female (District 7)_

They're insistent on asking me about my sister Giana, and I hate it. She always manages to make my life a misery, even when she isn't here. Our stylists apparently had the _wonderful_ idea to present us together as perfect sisters.

I've already told my prep team I don't want to play that angle, but they're insistent upon it. They don't believe me when I say how horrible she can be.

They start to tip pink beads into a device and I gasp as it produces smoke. _What is something so dangerous doing in a beauty room?_

They tip the wax it forms onto white strips of shiny paper, and before I get chance to realise what they are doing it is burning my arm, and they're tearing it back. I stare down and, despite the raw colour of my skin now, I can see the process's purpose. My arm looks hairless and smooth.

I touch it with my other hand, and it feels nicer than fluffy arms did. It would have never occured to me to de-hair my arms, but I think that I could get used to this.

They both rejoice when they see my legs. Being the mayor's daughter, I can actually afford to shave them. "Oh, darling, you actually have some sense of personal hygiene! Oh, hallelujah, a decent tribute for once!" the man of them cries aloud, and the woman produces a tissue from her pocket and pats beneath her eyes. Personally, I believe it's all a bit too overexaggerated, but it could be worse... I suppose.

An older woman replaces them - my stylist, I guess. She attatches the garments to one another, and then to me, and she stands back and smiles. I smile too - I look stunning.

I bet Tyler would find me hot right now. All those years of following him about... well, maybe now he'll notice me. Gigi always called me a creepy stalker for it, but when I go home he'll _have_ to go out with me.


	10. District 8

_Lee Nettle, 18, First Male (District 8)_

Morning breezes always seem to be the chilliest, and they're the reason why it's 9am and I'm still in bed, pulling my blankets closer to my body. I forgot to shut my window last night. Mom wasn't lying when she said that I'll find myself with a price to pay for every wrongdoing I do, and reducing the house's temperature by several degrees has the consequence of me shivering, it seems. Mom's wise like that - I'm not.

It's not nice for me at all, but I have to remind myself that at least I have a house unlike some people in District 8, and it would still be warm if it wasn't for my own stupidity. I get out of bed and lock it. The effects are almost immediate and I let out a sigh of relief.

In the small bathroom we have, I take a bath. The water, which would usually be lukewarm from the fire which is always lit in an evening, is today cold. Again, it is entirely my own fault. I doubt that anybody anywhere would blame me for making the process as quick as possible, except maybe my best friend. Lizzie would say it's a complete waste of clean water, and she would probably already know the statistics to support her claim. She's just so clever, despite being only seventeen.

I have to push some of my drawings to the side of the table so I can reach the mirror to shave, but I hear some of the paper fall to the floor. After I've finished, I pick them up. One is of the now abandoned factories I can see from my window, in the distance. A second is a portrait of Lizzie in her favourite dress. That is to be for her birthday next month - I've tried buying her things in the past, but she prefers my art.

The final sketch - and it really is just a quick sketch, this one - is of my boyfriend, Calvin. It's an old sketch, and I probably should have put it away in a drawer by now, but I'd only end up replacing it with another of him. Besides, he likes this one, and surely that alone should be reason enough to keep it on the counter alongside my newer pieces. If it has his seal of approval then it's perfect, and that's the best anything can ever be.

* * *

 _Brietta Luna, 15, Second Female (District 8)_

A cold wind hits my back, and I hold my jacket nearer to my body. My attempts to preserve my body heat are futile, however, and I continue to freeze. Even the thickest, nicest clothing cannot take the day's chill away. Layer upon layer covers me, but still I shiver almost as much as the girl beside me in her sleeveless top and her skirt that's too small for her - my closest friend, Rosemare, that is. She looks to be shivering so much that I undo my jacket and take off one of my cardigans from underneath.

"Want this?" I ask. "I have another."

She wraps it around her bony shoulders and smiles a little. "Thanks, Bree." I put my coat back on and wrap my arms around her to keep warm. My father can't see me around her right now, he can't get angry about socialising with "common" folks.

Eventually, she wriggles out of my embrace to shuffle forward in the line. It really isn't long until the reaping now. _Just a few more hours and then this hell is over for another twelve months,_ I think. It's a nice thought, knowing that I'll have another year of blissful safety.

Well, maybe not so blissful being from the family I am from, where I get so very little freedom, but my point is clear: it's still a year of not dying.

Rosemare and I reach the desk and she lets me go first. I graciously accept, and wait the other side as they prick her finger, trying to not get too swept up in the stampede of potential tributes as I stand there.

She comes through, and together we walk to our age group's designated area. It's an area that really is too small for so many of us, but there isn't anywhere else we can go. Besides, I suppose that when we're like this, all tightly packed in with bodies pressed against each other, we shall stay warm. If we were alone... well, we would freeze to death on a day like today, and that doesn't bear thinking about.

Even a spear to the stomach would be preferable to dying of pneumonia. At least the weapon kills you fast.

The square fills, and I grab Rosemare's hand. I don't want to get separated from her. The reaping's terrifying enough without losing track of your friend.

'Time flies when you're having fun' is what they say, but I think it's much the opposite for today has gone by so fast it's almost unreal. Aemilla Millare is now onstage, and her opening speech has concluded already. It's time to move on.

As he reads the treaty of treason, it's the only time my father's voice ever _really_ intimidates me. But still, giggly Aemilla scares me more, because she holds the power to ruin one's life. I really don't want it to be me whose name is called, and I hope it is not Rosemare either.

I'm scared, because although I know my odds are low in theory, _don't you just think it would be more interesting for the Capitol if the children of the wealthy and important were reaped?_ The thought unnerves me, and I push it from my mind.

I _will_ get through another year. I'll be fine.

* * *

 _Jake Hallywell, 14, Third Male (District 8)_

After returning from the first reaping bowl, Aemilla Millare calls, "Lee Nettle." On the main screen at the back of the stage, I see a stern-faced boy with dark skin shake his head vigorously at another boy. Their hands were joined just moments ago, but now Lee is briskly walking onstage.

A thought occurs in my head. _If the reapings really are random, how come the camera crew knew who Lee Nettle was before he even revealed himself properly? He looked like any other person in the crowd, the only way they could have been able to pinpoint him was if the reapings were rigged and they all had known from the start..._

I dismiss the idea instantly. Even the Capitol would never be so ridiculous as to do that.

Being caught up in my thoughts mean that I've missed the next name being called, but I can clearly see who it is. Velvet Lea, one of the few young people from District 8 who is actually successful. She looks scared, and that is one thing I never thought I would have to say about her.

Again, I am too flabbergasted to hear the name of the next tribute, but I can hear loud and clear when another boy calls, "I volunteer!" and makes his way onstage. His own name is Thomas Ambarella. The girl who follows him is named Brietta Luna, and she's all blank-faced and emotional. I recognise her as the mayor's daughter when she stands onstage. Their likeness is uncanny. I bet that she of all people didn't expect to be reaped.

"Jake Hallywell." _What?_

Oh, no - tell me this isn't true. I can't go, I can't! _I c_ _an't!_ But I _must_ , as much as I'm hating it to admit to myself right now. Nobody likes me enough to volunteer for me, and suddenly I'm regretting not making a really close friend. Oh, if only I had managed to keep my temper under control over the years... maybe then I would have had somebody else there who was willing to take my place.

It's certainly a promising thought. Now... if I could just learn to turn back time within the next few seconds...

But obviously, turning back time is an impossibility. There is no way that I could manage to perfect the art in such a short space of time even if it did exist. Therefore, only one conclusion can be drawn from this: I'm screwed.

Shakily, I make my way through the crowds and up the surprisingly steep stairs. I'm onstage for the final name, Taylor Lovelace, and she comes to join us. Well, I day that she comes to join us, but it's hardly on her own accord. The poor girl fell to her knees, and peacekeepers are having to drag her.

I would be laughing at the Taylor situation if I wasn't going with her myself.

* * *

 _Taylor Lovelace, 12, Third Female (District 8)_

Just my luck, isn't it? I piece my life back together and it falls apart yet again.

 _Not entirely,_ I remind myself. _Maybe in heaven I'll finally get to discover the truth..._ "I suppose I'll get to join my parents at last..." I mutter, but even though it was under my breath, Aunt Emilia still hears.

"I guess."

"You're finally admitting what happened to them then? You're telling me they're definitely dead?"

"That's not what I was trying to say at all."

"It's what you implied."

"Taylor, honey - we don't know. We can only presume. Look," she says as she brushes a strand of my hair back behind my ear with her hand, "I want to know what happened to your parents just as I do. Sasha- your mother, I mean, was my sister, remember?" I nod, and I try to look her in the eyes but my tears mean that all I can see is a peach-coloured blur. "Taylor, you're going to be okay..."

"Okay, so _maybe_ I'll meet Mommy and Daddy again. But I can't see what else would have happened to them."

"There are plenty of options - the Capitol can be very inventive, you know."

"I suppose," I sob. "You really think they could still be alive?"

"I'd say there's a good chance at least one of them is." I can feel my eyes light up, and she can sense it too, since she says, "Oh, honey, don't get your hopes up. It's all theoretical, and you know that." I feel her arms wrap tightly around me, and I know fully well what this signals - they're making her go. "Just stay you, okay?"

"Okay..." I choke out, not wanting to face my friends when though I know that won't be an option. They would never abandon me like this. They're nice people - they will want to say goodbye, I'm sure.

And I'm right. Sure enough, they do arrive. Cara's in the doorway with Mayra behind her.

When I embrace them, I squeeze them tight. I can't lose them, like this, _I can't._ But even though it really isn't fair to do this to anybody, especially not at my age, I can't change it. The Capitol are who they are, and who they are is unjust.

I guess I'll just have to make these final few minutes really count...

* * *

 _Thomas Ambarella, 16, Second Male (District 8)_

"Hey, I'm Thom," I say to the youngest boy from our district.

"Jake." He pauses a moment, but then I can see that something occurs inside his head. I don't need to hear the words to know exactly what he's thinking, but I hear them regardless. "Hey, didn't you volunteer? Doesn't that mean you want to be like the Careers?"

"Yes, I volun-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"I won't be associated with a Career tribute," he says, and he walks away before I get the chance to explain myself. See, I'm not a Career, not in the slightest. I'm just a normal boy, doing whatever anybody would do. Sven's my closest friend, and I've known him for years. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he died because I didn't love him enough. Platonically, that is. Of course...

I bite the inside of my mouth. Even if I did love him in that way, he'd never love me back. We've always been like brothers, so that would be like _incest._

I shudder at the word. No matter what people think about our 'relationship status', we would never date each other. It'd just be wrong, I suppose.

My brothers and sister will be just fine without me. They already see Sven as an uncle, and he promised me he would make sure that they are taken good care of, no matter where they are forced to go. His family would have been lost without him but mine will survive, I just know it. They're strong enough already after Mom-

I don't want to go over it all again, my head's messed up enough today without letting memories like that resurface themselves. Instead, I take a seat and watch my fellow tributes become acquaintanced with one another, and hope to find an ally of my own in the Capitol.

* * *

 _Velvet Lea, 17, First Female (District 8)_

"You have wonderful legs, and- oh! Your jawline is brilliant, as are your cheekbones! We simply _must_ show them off!"

"They're my speciality," I joke, and I roll my eyes. I know I'm pretty, and I really don't need telling again. Then again, the attention is always rather nice, even if the reason behind it is people's shallow-mindedness.

Oh, how wonderful the shallow-minded population in the Capitol are. Still, I'm awfully pissed off that they still left me in the reaping. _Su_ _rely_ they would't want me to go into the arena. I mean, what use am I to them if I'm dead? Not much, I'd say.

Why the heck would they want to just get rid of one of their biggest stars? I'm fabulous, and they all know it. I've already signed one member of my prep team's sparkly pink wings. Fiora fangirled a lot when she realised I really was me. It seems to be a great priviledge for her, and why shouldn't it be? Even District 1's stylists and prep teams will likely feel jealous of my own. After all, who wouldn't want to get me? I'll be the best tribute of them all for sure! Bets are, I'll be the one of the only ones with any fashion sense at all before Capitol stylists get their hands on them. Thank goodness my mother is a designer herself, for who knows how frightful my existance would have been if not!

Several floral scented creams are rubbed into my smooth skin, and an overwhelming sense of peacefulness overcomes me. If it was all like this, I would be more than willing but sadly, there's also the arena part, which I am dreading.

Fiora manages to work magic with my hair, pinning it up beautifully in minutes. I've seen pretty before, and I've seen fast before - but I've never seen them achieved at the same time. "There!" she exclaims as she fixes it with a final hairgrip. "You look stunning as always, Miss Lea."

I manage a realistic looking smile and I say, "Thanks, Fiora; thanks, Roberto. I look wonderful because of you two."

"Yes, yes! Now, let's get your stylist in here. Bali's a fashion genius, a bit like your mother. She'll make you shine..."

And twenty minutes or so later, Bali does indeed make me shine, and beneath this pale yellow light I look like a glowing angel.


	11. District 9

_Risetto Thorsten, 18, First Male (District 9)_

I walk away without even taking a quick glance back. I don't feel safe but above all, I feel sick to my core and filthy - like I'm a terrible person. But I'm not. All I do is what anybody would do to survive, even if my arse is killing me right now.

You would think that I'd be used to this all by now, but I'm not. In all honesty, I doubt that I'll ever be. I'm not sure I want to be, because that would seem like the point of no return.

I guess I'm just in denial, as it is. I'm tricking myself into believing that one day I'll be able to leave the trade, when I already know fully well that my reputation is too tarnished to ever repair.

My parents must have been sick in their head to sell me to scum of the earth when I was just thirteen. I mean, who even does that? Thirteen is still a kid, for fuck's sake! And yet their answer really was 'fuck', in the most literal sense. It's a horrible thing, and even now I've left them I have to continue. There's no other way of living for me now - I've got no opportunity to change my ways and turn my sorry life around.

I need a shower, and I need it right now. Not only is it for my own comfort and so I can actually feel like I have some rights again, but because there is the reaping in a few hours and I can't go smelling of sweat and cum - that would just be social suicide in a place like the square on reaping day, and I'm disliked enough already. No, I need to clean myself - I can't bear to walk through the streets feeling like this. It's hard enough that I'll have to do that until I get home, I'm not doing it for any longer than I really have to.

As I reach my own neighbourhood, people avoid me. I just glare at them - I know that I intimidate them, yes, but can't they see how much it hurts me emotionally when those who I'm supposed to be able to count on decide to walk on the opposite side of the lane to me? Well, it's torturous, and I'm in enough physical pain at this moment without even bringing their neglect into this.

Still, I guess they're better company than my parents. All they ever saw me as was a body to use to get money for them. They're horrible people, and I'm sure that they're aware of the legacy they still leave.

Thanks to them, I'll never truly be free, and I'll hate them for it forever.

* * *

 _Riley Redix, 12, Third Male (District 9)_

It feels weird - me here, and Dia and Anima finally safe. Kind-of scary, to be honest, but I'm coping... just.

"Hey, don't worry, Riley," Centra says, being the comforting older sibling that she is. "You won't get reaped, you'll be fine. We all will - you and Radia and I, and then Vita when it's her turn. Stop fretting."

"I'm not fretting!" I protest, and it makes Centra laugh, though Radia doesn't react.

"You can be as adamant as you like, but I can see a shadow of doubt on your face, Riley, and I don't like it. Stop doubting that you'll be fine, because we'll all be totally okay, and you know it."

"Yeah," I grumble, because I know that her point is true.

"Yeah?" She raises her eyebrows comically, and now I'm laughing too.

"Yeah." I wrap my arms around her and she hugs me back, and I run over to Radia and embrace her briefly too before she signs in. She barely acknowledges me back (she never does), but I had to do it. She's my sister and I love her, no matter what.

After Radia, it's supposed to be Centra, but she beckons me to go first. "You know I'll be right behind you," she reminds me as she gently nudges me forward. She may only have done this once before herself so she has every right to be terrified, but she's still putting me first. She's great, and I'm lucky that she's there for me.

At the desk, my finger is pricked and there's a sharp pain before blood pools on my fingertip. It's more crimson than I remember, and it shocks me because of it. The lady stares at me like I'm dumb and I think that I must be supposed to do something, but exactly what it is- well, that I'm not quite so sure. She must have grown tired of waiting for me, I suppose, because she yanks my finger and presses it hard against the paper, making my skin turn deep pink where she grabbed me. I'm not sure whether the needle or her grip hurt more in the end.

I try to wait for my sister at the other side but the stampede of other children drags me along before Centra comes through. I keep turning my head to try and see where boys my age are, and eventually I realise that it increases in age as you travel forward, meaning that I'm now in line with those aged sixteen and I'm still travelling forward.

To push my way back through would be the logical thing, yes, but my thinking is hardly very rational, so instead I keep going until I bump into the stage itself. I hear a few gasps and a few laughs, but neither comes from the peacekeepers who manage to get the crowd to part by just their presence. I tuck myself into the edge of my section, and try to remain inconspicuous.

I'm sure that the speeches that are given are extremely interesting, but instead of listening I just rub my eyebrow. The scar from when I was younger still hasn't grown any hair on it, and it's making me think that I'll have a gap in my eyebrow forever by this point.

The Hunger Games are about to start, and I sure as heck hope I don't land myself in them.

* * *

 _Natalia Tressington, 17, First Female (District 9)_

A cute boy across from me looks in my direction and I wink at him, twirling my hair. It's not much, but I know that he'll be swooning anyway because I'm so fucking perfect. In fact, I'm sure that if there was a thingy - I can't remember its name, a 'book' or something? - which had in the definition of words, I'm pretty sure that 'perfection' would have 'Natalia Tressington' written beneath it.

I'm so idle with trying to get myself another boyfriend after the reaping that I don't realise my name is being called until the girl beside me nudges me. I think she's called Eleanor, but I couldn't be sure. She's just another of my mindless followers.

I'm calm as I go onstage, because I know that one of my 'friends' (oh, how naïve they are to think I genuinely love them all) will volunteer for me. Why wouldn't they? I'm a far more valuable asset than they'll ever be. One day I'll make money for sure. Maybe being reaped (albeit only until someone takes my plave) will show the Capitol what beauty I have. I'm joking about the maybe bit, obviously - I'm bound to get scouted as a model after today!

Now... let's see how many seconds it takes for a volunteer to take my place...

 _One..._

 _Two..._

 _Three..._

 _Four..._

I scan the crowds with my eyes, in case someone by some chance didn't hear my name.

 _Twelve..._

 _Thirteen..._

 _Fourteen..._

 _Fifteen..._

Maybe they're waiting until the last moment. Perhaps they think it'll make them seem like a heroine more if they wait a bit.

 _Twenty-six..._

 _Twenty-seven..._

 _Twenty-ei-_

"Now for the first boy!"

 _NO!_ I wail inside, and my body stiffens all over for a moment. I feel paralysed - it must be the shock of everybody's betrayal. There should have been a battle about who was going to prove their friendship by voulunteering, but not one stepped forward. What absolute bitches - how dare they value their own lives above mine? It's just unacceptable, they know how fabulous I am, and how much life means to me!

"Risetto Thorsten."

I blow a kiss to Risetto as he comes onstage, eager to claim all the male sponsors before the other girls try to take their money for themselves. My plan should be foolproof, but Risetto remains remarkably unaffected by my charm. He doesn't even react negatively, though that should be an impossibility. He doesn't care in the slightest, and that's what affects me most. I feel tears well up in my eyes and I do my very best to hold them back but I can feel one fall down my cheek slowly.

 _Maybe he's gay,_ I think. The thought repulses me. Surely every boy should want to be with me, just like how every girl wants to be me - regardless of their sexuality and stuff. After all, I'm too brilliant to not love.

 _That's it,_ I think suddenly. _I know what he's up to, I've seen this game played before. He's playing hard to get - he'll come down off his high horse eventually. Not that I'll be there when he finally does so - he's insulted me too much already by bringing shame to me in front of the whole nation._

There's a girl called Radia Redix after that arsehole, and although she is pretty, she would never be able to compare to me. I doubt anybody in the history of Panem could, except- maybe there would have been someone in the dark days. Probably an ancestor of mine. After all, my good looks had to come from somewhere in the beginning.

A boy called Barley Maze is next; and I have never heard such screams - not even from another girl. He obviously already knows that he's in for absolute hell. He is kind-of cute though.

A girl called Centra Redix and a boy called Riley Redix are the final two and both their physical likeness and their shared last name tells me that the two and Radia are all related in some way. It makes you wonder if some of the bowls are rigged.

* * *

 _Radia Redix, 15, Second Female (District 9)_

My older sisters, Dia and Anima, come through the doors alongside my youngest sister, Vita. At age four, I bet she doesn't understand what is going on in the slightest.

 _Good,_ I think. _I wouldn't want her to know._

"Hey, guys," I say, attempting to sound casual despite the situation. I fail miserably, since I break down in tears.

"Oh, Radia..." Anima sobs as she races over to hug me. Ever since Mom and Dad died, she and Dia have been like the rocks of the family. They're there for us, even if they've had to make many sacrifices of their own. "Sweetie, you'll be fine. I mean, we all know already that at least two of you will die, but you know what I mean. You needn't feel any pain if you play this right. After all, it's all just one sick game, isn't it?"

I nod, not knowing how to react to her statements. I had been trying to avoid thinking about my death in the near future, but when she puts it so plainly... well, it makes it harder to ignore.

It was hard enough already.

Avoiding her desperate gaze, I slowly make my way over to Vita and wrap her up within my arms. I never want to let my baby sister go. Yes, I know that she's technically not a baby anymore, but she will always be a baby in my eyes. She is the youngest, after all.

It's strange to think that though we're currently six, that number will soon halve. It must be weird for Dia and Anima - losing three siblings and both parents in under a year. I just really don't want for any of us to die, and yet three of us will have to. Which makes me think: _What did our family ever do wrong to deserve this fate?_

"Radia?" Dia pokes me, startling me. "Are you all right, Radia? You were daydreaming. You can't do that in the arena, you do realise?"

"Yes." I frown.

"It would kill you."

"Yes, I know that."

"You do? Oh, gosh, obviously you do! Gosh, I'm such a dumbass, aren't I?"

"Paranoid, maybe, but not a dumbass," Anima jokes. Their banter feels familiar, _safe._

I never want them to have to go.

* * *

 _Barley Maze, 16, Second Male (District 9)_

The carriage I chose seemed like a good place to stay hidden, but apparently not, since a certain Miss Tressington finds her way here. Her attitude is frustrating, to say the least.

My mother (whom I still miss to this day) always taught me to be polite though, so I smile at her. Unfortunately, she seems to take this the wrong way and begins to come on to me. She twirls her hair and leans again the side table in a way that's clearly meant to seem seductive.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she says, giggling. It makes me grimace.

"I guess," I say, but only to get her off my back. Literally, that is, since she has now decided to wrap her arms around me from behind. I try to wriggle out of her grasp but no such luck as of yet.

"It must be my jeans," she says, at long last loosing me to walk to a window. I'm happy to finally be able to breathe again.

"You mean genes, right?"

"Yeah, those things." _Wow, what a dumbass._

"Are you okay?" I ask as I back out through the door to the carriage, hoping she won't notice.

"Sure I am, babe," she says, still gazing at the ever-nearer Capitol. I'm out of there now, so I take my chance and run before she can notice that I'm gone. I can deal with her wrath later if I must - it's a better option that dealing with her sexual advances right now.

Eventually, I get tired and I have to sit down on the floor of the corridor I'm in. To be fair, I'm probably nearing the other end of the train by now anyway.

I'm panting, and it makes me realise just how difficult these Games are going to be. Running away from the danger is meant to be the easy option, and I can't even do that successfully for a long time.

I'm going to die.

* * *

 _Centra Redix, 13, Third Female (District 9)_

My prep team keep asking about my life, and I'm more than happy to oblige at first. I talk about everything, really. My best friend - Aria - and how I met her. How unfortunate it was for my siblings and I to get reaped together. My other sisters back home and the terrible misfortune of losing our parents. The hurt I felt inside at the time and-

But I stop talking about myself, because it is far too selfish of me to sit and have a one-sided conversation as they both just listen so patiently. So, rather than continuing with my own life story, I ask them about theirs, and it's _fascinating._

Marissa's home is a pink fairytale palace. I don't know what a fairytale is so she tries to explain and they sound wonderful. I wish I grew up off them like she did.

As silly and impossible as it is, I really wish I could visit her home. You know, just to see what it's like - I've hardly got any superficial or cruel motives behind my actions, have I? Everybody knows that I'm the sweetest sister, and I'm not going to let the arena change that. I need to remain me.

Arius is also pretty awesome. He's got animals at home but they're not for eating, no - they're _pets._ Though the concept seems alien to me, I can see the appeal. The idea of a little animal to care for and love seems like it replaces a human child, but it fits in perfectly with the whole Capitol lifestyle. It sounds exciting, and I wonder what it would be like.

I think if I make it home I might get a pet chicken. We've seen them in school textbooks, and the babies look adorable. It could be nice, I think. I'd really rather like such a chance.

Marissa and Arius take a long while once they begin talking. Who'd have thought it - my prep team, the once shy duo, now chatterboxes? I would not have suspected it, but they are good company so I would not complain either way.

Once they leave, it's time for my stylist. Cami is completely new to the whole thing, but I do like her. For example, I like how she lets me call her Cami even though her name is Camilla, because that's what her friends do. I feel respected, and that's the best I can get in the situation that I'm in.


	12. District 10

_Vernon Keld, 17, First Male (District 10)_

6:05am is the time on my clock, and my eyes widen. Work starts at 11am so how can I possibly get ready before then? I mean, I need to shower, style my hair... well, everything, really!

I race across the landing but my footsteps attract the attention of my father. "What are you doing up at this ungodly hour, Vernon? I was counting on it being the one day in the year that I could actually lie in, and I would have thought you would have done the same."

"But, Dad! Work's in five hours, I need to get ready!" I groan, hating his newfound authority.

"Work? Oh, not today, Vernon. It's the reaping, and that's not until four in the afternoon. Go and get some more rest, son." I relax. _The reaping._ How could I forget? It's my chance to look my most wonderful!

"Fine then. I guess some more beauty sleep won't do my looks any harm. I'll need extra time to get ready though so wake me up at ten, okay?"

"Sure thing, now go and sleep," Dad says and I make my way back to my bedroom, practicing my sexy walk for later. After all, I'm drop-dead gorgeous - it's just that the girls don't realise it yet.

Before I climb back under the covers, I make sure to put some moisturiser on my face and hands. I need soft skin, don't I? Girls don't fall for boys with rough skin and stubble, so I'll have to shave my face later. Once I'm satisfied that I've moisturised enough, I return to my bed and let sleep consume me.

I wake up again to my dad gently poking my shoulder, a caring smile on his face. I turn to the clock - three minutes past. I'm behind schedule. He knows fully well why I have to push him out of the way.

The water in the shower is cold today, much colder than usual, but I grit my teeth and bear it. Beauty equals pain, and if pain is water so freezing it makes me shiver then so be it.

Half an hour later, I get out. My body is numb, yes, but I smell of shampoo rather than cow manure. The girls will wonder why they stick with their boyfriends when they can have me. I think that everybody knows who the better option is.

The bathroom light is low but it's bright enough still to manage to not cut myself on my razor. I touch my hand to my face and both are so smooth. My new moisturiser evidently works. Who knows? Maybe one day I might manage to design my own brand of moisturiser. It would earn me a good amount of money...

My hair is the hardest part. It looks simple but trust me, it's not. There's a lot of effort gone into this perfect parting. Paired with my blue shirt it looks fabulous though.

When I strut into the kitchen, my mother wraps me in an embrace. _I hope she hasn't just creased my shirt._

"Oh, my baby boy! You look so wonderful today! Oh, Angus," she gushes as she turns to my father, "isn't our son such a heartbreaker?" She dries her teary eyes, and I'm glad that she thinks I look good. Now I just have to hope the girls my own age think the same...

* * *

 _Hugo Bennet, 14, Third Male (District 10)_

Tears trickle down my face. Hildegard should be experiencing her first safe year, but instead she is dead. My sister, who I loved so dearly, is dead.

I know that it happened years ago, but I still can't get over it. I miss her, even more so than my parents.

Mackery puts her arm around me. "Hey, it'll be okay, Hugo. They're in Heaven now..."

"No, they're not. They're in hell. I'll go to hell when I die too."

She scowls at me, annoyed. "Honey, Hildegard never did anything to sentence her to Hell, and your mother wasn't all that bad."

"Hildegard was born of incest like me, and you know it. There's no place for people like us in Heaven. Mother will be there in Hell for incest, and father will be there for raping her to begin with as well as general incest. They'll be in Hell together for joining together. Mackery, I have no chance in this world, and neither in the world beyond because of my father's stupid teenage curiousity!" I'm screaming now, and I'm hugging her so tight it must hurt, but she's just hugging me back. Mackery just gets me, and I owe my life to her - quite literally, in fact.

When my household was overcome with disease, I was staying with Mackery's family. She has always been my best friend, and aged ten we thought it would be fun to have a week where we just hung out at her family's farm. So we did just that, and little did I know until it was over that the week spent there saved me from dying.

Now, I live with her family full-time. I'm quite big and strong, and I save them from having to pay for someone to work for them. It's a situation which suits us all.

Mackery whispers into my ear, "You'll be fine," and I'm brought back to the present day. The hurtful, horrible present day where all I can think about is death and loss. She escapes my embrace and just grips my hand. She's just as nervous as I am, and right now we need one another's support. "Hey, Hugo, do you remember last year after the reaping?"

"Of course," I say, a slight smile creeping onto my face. Her parents told her to get a chicken but we were so high off the fact that we were safe again that all common sense escaped us both, and when she told me that we had to go to the market and buy a chicken I believed her, despite not having any money with us. We ended up agreeing with another farmer to have a baby male chick in exchange for my hat, and we had to apologise for the age and gender when we came home. It turned out that they just wanted a chicken from the chicken coop so that we could eat properly the following day, and our baby male chick became our pet, much to Mackery's parents' annoyance. His name became Bill but after six months he got eaten by a fox at night. It devastated us two, but it served me right for exchanging my good hat for an adorable yet utterly useless little yellow ball of feathers.

"I miss Bill still," she says.

"So do I."

"I guess we're unlikely to be asked to do much this evening."

"I'd say the same," she says with a giggle. We're both smiling again.

"I swear, you always manage to find a way to get us into trouble, Mackery."

"And I swear that you're right!"

We sign in and take our separate places. From my pocket, I take out the drawing she drew me on the week my parents died. It's of her parents, her, and me. Back then we jokingly called it our 'week long family'. Little did we know that it would eventually become our permanent family portrait.

Delainey Rowske introduces it all. The mayor has a sore throat so she has to read out everything herself, and it makes for good entertainment. Her random words and phrases are always in a different language. She says it's French, something pre-Panem - but I think it's made up. Why would people speak different languages to one another? The idea is absurd.

* * *

 _Natalie Lockell, 17, First Female (District 10)_

Delainey irritates me. She thinks she's so fucking perfect when she's not. Everybody has faults, and she is dumb to not see that.

Me? Well, I have a multitude of faults. Not all of them are even entirely of my own doing. No - some of them, my parents are to blame. If they had have brought me up differently then maybe my life wouldn't be such a mess now.

'Oh, look who it is - the little slut...' and 'Oi, Nat! Learned to close your legs yet?' are things I hear every single day, and I hate it. I _hate_ it.

I'm not a slut. I married very young, yes, but I got _married._ Sure, it was probably not the best life choice looking back, since my marriage is going through a bad period, but I still don't see how I'm any worse than any other girl. Yes, I have my twins, but they're not out of wedlock or anything else that could warrant such labels. I wish people would just let me get on with my own life and them move on with theirs. It's about time that they did so.

Anyway, I'm ranting. I need to focus today. It _is_ the reaping, after all.

Delainey makes her way over to the first bowl and selects a random name. Everybody around me waits in nervous anticipation, knowing fully well that the person who is chosen will probably be somebody other than them, but also knowing about that miniscule chance that they are about to become the selected one who has to fight to the death... and be the one to die doing so. The concept makes me shudder.

"Natalie Lockell," is called, and I stop shaking for a moment and just freeze. _Please tell me this is a cruel joke._

But _of course_ it's not a joke. Nobody here is sick-minded enough for that. No - this is real. My eyes widen and I drop to my knees, tears streaming down my face and covering the gravel floor of the square. _Why me?_ I think. _Why me?_

I'm horrified but I'm not incapable yet. When a girl beside me reaches out her hand to help me up I graciously accept it. Normally, I would have avoided her gaze, but today I need all the help I can get.

I stumble onstage and tightly grip my skirt in an attempt to steady my nerves. It doesn't work, I'm still just as terrified.

I'm bound to be this terrified until the very moment that I die.

Suddenly, a thought crosses my mind and I can't take this anymore. _What about my sons?_

My eyes go blurry with all the water gathering in them and my hearing distorts. The rest of the reaping is tense torture and all I take from it is a string of names. One of them could even end up as my killer.

Vernon Keld. Sylvie Ryder. Florian Cowbell. Eucalyptus Realms. Hugo Bennet.

I don't know them, but I doubt that they deserve to die. I doubt any of us do.

* * *

 _Sylvie Ryder, 16, Second Female (District 10)_

On the side table near to the window, there are four ornaments. They are all similar, but of varying heights. Currently, the shortest and the second shortest are the wrong way around asthetically, and it's bugging me.

I get out of my chair and walk over to the guilty objects, switch them, and step back to look at the difference. _That's much better now._ Satisfied, I make my way back over to my seat, smooth my skirt, and take out of my cardigan pocket a small wooden horse figurine. I've had it for years - since I was a baby, in fact. If it wasn't in my hand at that very moment all those years ago, it would have perished in the fire that took not only all our belongings but also my dear father's life. I wish I could say that I remember him, but I don't. All of my memories are hazy from back then - after all, I was only two years old at the time of his death.

Since I've got such low chances of surviving this thing, I guess I'll be spending some more time with him soon. Making up for lost time and all that.

I sigh. I didn't want any of this, and I'm really not sure how Mom's going to cope without me. I'm all that she's had since Dad died. I mean, yes, she has friends, but they're not there all the time.

Talking of Mom...

"Hey, sweetie. How you feeling, hm? You want a hug?" she says as she strokes my hair. I nod, and in milliseconds I'm wrapped up inside her strong arms. She smells of goats' milk and _home._ Gosh, I'm going to miss this place, and that's something that I never thought that I would have to say. She just knows that I'm not in a talking mood, and so we stay like this until she is taken away. I dry my eyes in a futile attempt to trick myself into thinking I'm okay. I'm not. I never will be okay again forevermore.

Then again, my forever isn't looking like it's going to be a very long one.

When my best friend Dylla replaces her, I still don't feel like talking so we just sit in silence for a while but eventually I just say, "So..."

"Yeah..." she replies, clearly still unsure about what to think of the situation. "You okay?"

"Yeah... I mean, I guess I'm as good as I can be in the situation at hand..."

"True..." she says with a sad, dreaming smile. I've never seen her so sombre in her life - she's usually so jolly to be around. In fact, I was kind-of hoping she would somehow find a way to cheer me up again. "Oh, gosh, Sylvie, this is all so wrong..."

"I know it is but there's nothing I can do, Dylla." I grip her hands between my own, and there is silence once more. This time, neither of us are keen to end it.

* * *

 _Florian Cowbell, 16, Second Male (District 10)_

Well, I tried. I guess somebody had to fail when trying to get on the train and that poor little person was me. Oh well, I'm used to this. I mean, I managed to trip up the stairs at the reaping, so it's hardly a surprise that I tripped and fell flat on my face now too.

A young woman and a young man walk on behind me, and the man rushes to help me up. His companion follows.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" she asks me as the two help me up.

"Yes, yes, thank you. Sorry about that, I'm a little clumsy sometimes."

She laughs a little at this, but I can see that it's not in a cruel way. "I'm Annaliese," she says. "And you are Florian Cowbell, I presume?"

"Yes," I answer with a sigh. I'm still not sure why my parents thought that a name which translates to 'flowering cowbell' was a good one to name their son.

"Right, well... if you're him, then your mentor's going to be Grange here. So... I might leave you two to get acquaintanced, hm?" she says with an evil glint in her eyes and a smirk, before walking off.

"So... um..." Grange says, twiddling his thumbs. I decide to get straight to the point.

"Why did she pull that face just then? Is something the matter?" I query him.

"No, no, it's... it's just that I really hate mentoring, okay? I don't find it to be a pleasant job in the slightest, and I've been dreading this year's Games. You know, with more people for me to mentor..." I nod along as he talks, because I'm not sure I would like the role myself. It must be torturous, getting to know a group of children each year, knowing fully well that they're about to get brutally murdered in front of the whole nation, possibly by one another. He's been though it himself - both him and Annaliese, and all the other victors. I would hate it.

Sensing his nerves, I say, "Do you want to do this later?"

"Yes, yes, sure thing..." he replies before going off in the direction Annaliese went. In all honesty, I don't mind either way when I acquaintance myself with my mentor. I'm probably going to die anyway because of my outright refusal to fight.

I go over to a window and the speed at which we must be travelling is absolutely amazing. Trains are fascinating things really - the people in District 6 are lucky to get to spend so much time around them.

Everything becomes a grey blur as we travel past so many different districts. It's weirdly calming and I'm feeling rather serene right now, which is an unexpected feeling to have when I'm on a train to my death.

Eventually, the grey blur changes to rainbow-coloured stripes. It can only mean one thing: we're entering the Capitol.

* * *

 _Eucalyptus Realms, 12, Third Female (District 10)_

I don't get why everybody feels so sorry for me. Getting reaped is being treated like a bad thing, but I really don't see it that way. For one thing, I'm finally free from my mother. I no longer have to live with the fear that she'll track me down and kill me, just like how she killed my father.

Living with her for the first nine years of my life, before I managed to escape... well, it was torture. It scarred me in quite the literal sense, which is what my prep team are currently getting worked up about. Apparently a tribute doesn't look very appealing if they have a scar going all the way up their arm.

I'd say to screw the whole idea of looking appealing, but I keep my mouth shut because they probably have got better judgement than me on stuff like this. Anyway, they're in authority - that means that it's safe to trust what they say, right?

I can hear a girl scream from the room next to me. It's muffled by the thick walls, but that means that she must be in a lot of pain.

"Don't panic," one of my prep team says in his clipped accent, "it's just the wax on her legs. We shall do the same for you now."

"Right," I say nervously. I'm not sure I want the same thing to happen to me.

The wax is hot as it goes on my leg, and tugs slightly as it comes off. Yes, it hurts, but I'm fairly immune to most pain due to my childhood. I thought it was literally burning her skin - not just removing some hairs.

The duo exchange pleased looks as they continue the process. Apparently it's rare for someone to react so well. I'm pleased though - it's a testament to my bravery.

My nails are buffed and my hair trimmed. They do some weird thing to change the shape of my eyebrows and then it seems that I'm good to go.

They leave, and an elderly man replaces them. I grimace that he can see me naked.

He introduces himself as Romeo and explains that he was a stylist many years ago, and that he was called back for the Quarter Quell. It makes me nervous that he is so out of practice, yet hopeful because he is not one of the people who made our district's tributes dress so ridiculously last year.

When I put on my outfit though, I realise just how bad this is going to be. This is possibly the worst outfit I have ever seen.

Most of all, I don't see why they had to get rid of my scar. It wouldn't have even been on show.


	13. District 11

_Orchid Myles, 17, First Female (District 11)_

"Hey, Orchid?" comes a call from the doorway. I turn to look who it is - my twin sister, Mint.

"Hey, Minty, what is it?"

"I've come to take over from you," she says timidly as she sits down on the opposite side of our sick uncle's bed. He and our aunt are the only people I know who won't have to be at the reaping this afternoon - he because of his paralysis, and she because Uncle James needs constant attention.

"Thanks," I say as I get up. "Tell me if you need me to take over from you again, okay?"

"Sure."

I return to our shared bedroom and take out my guitar. Normally, I would be in the square and playing songs to earn some money. But today is not a normal day - the square is out of bounds until this afternoon, and most people are tucked up safely inside their homes so there would be no real point in going elsewhere.

Instead, this morning I can return to the old days. I can pretend I'm back in the times when I was young and carefree. Admittedly, earning my living through music is much nicer than working in a field would be - after all, I love singing and playing my guitar - but sometimes I miss the days when I didn't have to worry about sounding perfect, when an out-of-tune note didn't risk my daily earnings.

I begin to sing an old song that my friend Koto's mother taught her and Tia and me once. It's soft and sweet and probably wouldn't earn me much money, but it's by far my personal favourite. It's a tune about flowers, and the melody sounds beautiful on Koto's violin but since she's not here my guitar has to make do. It still sounds lovely, if I do say so myself.

After a few more tunes I put it back in its case. There's the reaping to consider, after all.

I find the dress I made last summer. I earned enough money that I could keep some for myself rather than spending it on food for the family, so I bought some material and sewed myself a dress. With the remaining material I made Mint a skirt which I gave her on our seventeenth birthday. She was overjoyed.

The dress is now a bit shorter than it was to begin with, but not indecently so. It makes me look younger, I think. Maybe that could be seen as a bad thing by some, but I think it's good. I don't want to age too fast. Life's too short, and if I can give myself some hope that I'm not so far through it then that can't be a bad thing at all, can it?

* * *

 _Castor Aconite, 18, First Male (District 11)_

I don't come through the ordinary entrance. Why would I? The peacekeepers would be scared that I would murder people. _Right, because every criminal who's about to get executed for their crimes within the week turns back to being evil._

Honestly? It was all just one stupid moment of madness. We were drunk, taking turns at going down a hill in a wheelbarrow. Citrus fell out and broke his neck. He died instantly.

If I'd gotten any common sense at the time, I would have listened to his brother when he said to tell the peacekeepers. Instead, I panicked and my instinct was to shut him up. So I did... permanently.

Once I realised what I had done, and Garden had calmed me down, I set about covering it up. I put his body by his brother's, did my best to make it look like it was the same tragic accident that killed both Citrus and Lime, even though that was far from the difficult truth.

For a few days, it seemed like everything would be fine. But then somehow it was established that his neck getting snapped was deliberate, a murder. Garden confessed all, and brought me down with him. That was the day both our lives really ended.

Garden's punishment wasn't death, but it still became too much for him to bear in the end. He killed himself, and it shocked me how soon our group went from four to one.

 _Soon it'll be none,_ I remind myself. I'm going to die in a few days anyway, and the conditions in the youth jail are horrific. No - I'm going to get myself out of here, and to do that I'm going to volunteer. Does that make me mad? Quite possibly, but when all options are considered, it's by far the best one. For starters, I'll get moderate comfort in the Capitol, but that's not all. I'll be extending my life by a few days, or maybe even weeks this way, and if I die onscreen I won't be forgotten. Murder shouldn't be too hard - after all, I've proven myself proficient already.

This side of me, the side that can think like this... it sickens me, but it's my way to freedom.

I won't be winning the Hunger Games, but I'm going to die on my own terms after a week of relative bliss. It's more than is possible for most prisoners.

* * *

 _Pepper Trill, 16, Second Male (District 11)_

As always, the first tribute is a girl. The name is Orchid Myles and when she steps out from the seventeens I immediately recognise her. I think she sings in the streets sometimes. From what I can recall, the girl has a lovely voice. It's a shame that there will be less music around here, but maybe she'll get the chance to sing during the tribute interviews or something. It would certainly make her memorable.

After her, there's Scoria Jelenic. Again, she is another memorable face. This time, it's the mayor's bratty little daughter. I doubt that anybody will be truly sorry to see her enter this year's arena. After all, she's had it coming to her for a _very_ long time now.

Eventually, Carmen makes her way to the youngest girls' bowl. I think that having two tributes per district aged between twelve and fourteen is absolutely sickening, but the Capitol obviously don't agree. The fact that the girl - Astra Moorfield - comes from the fourteens is a minor relief at most. She's still far too young to even be in the reaping bowl, in my opinion.

But, of course, my opinion is invalid. Every district citizen's opinion is entirely invalid unless they are a popular victor. Even then, they're sometimes ignored.

The first boy's name is called, and it's Calum Nash. But just as Calum begins to step out from the seventeens, there's a call from the sidelines - from behind a clump of peacekeepers. "I volunteer!"

The large boy gestures for a peacekeeper with a bunch of keys to uncuff him and he reluctantly obliges. Never in my life have I ever seen somebody from District 11 walk onstage at the reaping with such undeniable enthusiasm. His ragged clothes and the handcuffs that were removed both tell me that he has done something wrong, but it must have been absolutely terrible for the best option to be going into the Hunger Games.

Carmen asks for his name and in a voice which I would not have associated with his image, he says, "My name is Castor Aconite." The whole crowd goes silent, expecting a further explanation for his actions but he stays quiet. I guess he's not a big talker. It's weird, because if I was him then I would be protesting for my life. I would be bigging myself up for the sponsors - a guy his size who volunteered could get masses of sponsor money if they tried.

Amongst all the awkward tension and disapproving mumbles, our escort plucks up the courage to continue despite the unusual happenings. She walks over to my bowl and I clench my fists and screw my eyes tightly shut. _Please not me. Please not me. Please not-_

"Pepper Trill!" _Damn, it's me._

Terror soars through my body, nearly paralysing me with fear. But I know that I have to get onstage somehow, and if possible I would rather that be in some kind of unassisted manner.

Putting on my determined face, I make my way towards my fellow tributes. Suddenly, I feel a lot more threatened by volunteer Castor. That's hardly a surprising thing, I suppose.

I try not to focus too much as they youngest boy's name is called out. I mean, I pick up that he's called Luka Rivera, of course, but I don't want to know anything else about him - not yet.

Yes, I'm going to need to acquaintance myself with my fellow tributes, but first I need to get used to this whole "about to die" idea.

* * *

 _Luka Rivera, 12, Third Male (District 11)_

I'm not sure if my mom's going to come and visit me. In all honesty, I'm not sure if I want her to. Ever since Dad got accused of murdering that girl, she's been a different woman. She's quieter, and not nearly so happy.

I guess the moment when I realised that this new her was forever was the moment that they took him into the square and killed him. I saw it with my very own eyes, and to this day I can't erase the memory of the light fading from my father's eyes as the bullets all pierced his whole body. It still haunts me, to say the least.

My first visitor, as I suspected, isn't her. Rather, it's my best friend. "Hey, Alexa," I greet her, with a small smile to mask my pure terror.

"Hey!" she shouts with a little too much unwarrented enthusiasm. In fact, she's still so enthusiastic that she manages to knock me to the floor as she comes running towards me, presumably to hug me. I hit my head. "Shit! Luka, are you okay?"

"Sure," I say drowsily, rubbing my head before I fall to the ground.

I can't tell exactly how long I've been out, but I can be sure that it's been a while because when I rub my hands together I discover that my palms are thick with sticky sweat.

"Luka? Luka? Oh, good, you're with us again. Honestly, you gave us a bit of a shock there, dearie." I open my eyes wide and see a lady in a pristine white coat staring down at me. A doctor, and judging by her accent and the blue tint to her hair I'd say that she's one from the Capitol. "Your friend managed to knock you out."

"She didn't me- mean it," I stutter, conscious that the words I choose to say could determine what happens to her. "Alexa... she just gets a little overly emotional at times - that's all it was, I can assure you. It was the emotion of the reaping. It's not every day that you lose your best friend to a death match, you know."

The second that I call the Hunger Games a 'death match', I immediately regret it. Thankfully, the doctor just looks at me sympathetically. "I'm sure that they'll understand that," she says.

All of a sudden, I feel myself becoming more aware of my surroundings, and I realise that I've never been here before. _Could we be in the Capitol already?_

"Where are we, ma'am?" I ask in my politest voice.

"Just the train. We're barely out of District 11, dearie. Don't you worry - just get some rest..."

* * *

 _Astra Moorfield, 14, Third Female (District 11)_

The train chuggs along quite pleasantly, I must say. I was petrified, but now I realise that there's no real danger in this part of the whole experience. For now, I am safe. For now, I needn't worry about what's happening to me when I arrive in the Capitol. Maybe I'll be able to trick myself into thinking it's all a dream, or that I'm fine and it's fake.

For now, I can enjoy freedom (albeit only a few hours of it).

The middle male tribute and the oldest female tribute are across the carriage from me. _Hey, Astra, how about making yourself some friends?_

I walk over to them. "Hey, I'm Astra. How do you do?" The boy smirks and the girl shies away, but I just pretend that nothing happened. "So... we're going to the wonderful Capitol! It's pretty exciting, right? I mean, I've heard the stories about how great it is, but now I'm getting to see the place for myself! I mean, that's a benefit of being reaped, right? I mean, of course there's the whole actual Hunger Games Quarter Quell arena thing afterwards, but that's just all minor details... Even so, maybe we'll have a super pretty arena! Maybe there will be strawberries! I _love_ strawberries, don't you? They're just so red and delicious and fabulous and-"

"Gosh, do you ever stop to breathe?" the boy says as he walks away, but it's no big deal that he's gone. I just divert all my attention to my remaining companion.

"Anyway, as I was saying, maybe the plants will be familiar to us. You work in the fields, right?" She shakes her head, but I laugh it off. She must be joking - we all work in the fields, we're from _District 11,_ for goodness' sake! "Yeah, well if they have strawberries or blackberries or tomatoes or something then we'll all be okay, won't we? There's no need whatsoever for us to panic about that. In fact, I don't think that this whole experience will be quite as bad as it's made out to be. I think we'll all learn quite a bit about ourselves, we will. Yeah, most of us will die at the end of it all, but self-discovery is so important, don't you agree?"

She mutters some kind of an excuse as to why she has to leave me alone, and then she goes. Me, I sit in a corner and sulk. I hate not having people around me. I'm the kind of person who loves being around others, an extrovert is its name, I think. I'm not too sure though.

Bright lights in the distance signal the end of my loneliness. It's a relief, knowing that I'll have a prep team and stylist to talk to. Who knows, maybe we'll even have a few things in common?

* * *

 _Scoria Jelenic, 16, Second Female (District 11)_

"Scoria! Sit back down, we were about to wax your legs!"

I sigh - do these people not see how much they have been testing my patience? "Look, guys, you two have been waxing my legs for the past half an hour, right? I'll come back to the bench when you move on..." I say, as I start to explore the room we are in. Some of the photos on the wall over here are fascinating, to say the least.

A hand harshly tugs my shoulder and I scream. I feel like my arm is being assaulted.

"Shut _up,_ will you?" She drags me across the room and ties me to the table. "We cannot move on until your legs have been waxed, Scoria. Now, the more you oblige, the quicker this will be over..."

" _Just hurry the_ fuck _up!"_ I scream, hating how vulnerable I feel now I'm tied up.

"There are some things that we can't rush, Scoria," the same woman says again and I'm honestly sick of her by now. She's so _patronising._

"Fine," I growl through gritted teeth. I'm certain that my absolute reluctance here is showing. _Good,_ I think. _If I have to have these stuff done then I'm sure as heck going to make it awkward for the people tending to me._

After many, many hours of me protesting, I am finally looking beautiful enough for my stylist. When I am shown in a mirror and see that I look practically the same as I did before, I want to cry. I just had to sit through all that torture for no reason at all.

I ask my stylist himself why, but he's no use whatsoever. All he knows is that we grow vegetables... which doesn't bode too well for my outfit.

It doesn't bode well for any of the District 11 outfits.


	14. District 12

_Rowan Leyton, 12, Third Male (District 12)_

I shuffle through the empty streets of the Seam. I miss my home, it'll be a relief when I'm old enough to get a new one for myself.

See, I wasn't always like this. I used to have a mother, a father, a reasonably comfortable home (well, it was no worse than any other home here in the Seam). But then one day everything changed - my parents were found dead on the floor of our home, and the knife which killed them had only two sets of fingerprints on. They were my mother's, which was hardly a shock because she had likely handled it during the day, and... mine.

To this very day, I'm not sure why my own fingerprints were all over the handle. I'm absolutely terrified of knives, and I wasn't all that old at the time.

At the time, I was scared that I had somehow killed them - in my sleep, or something ridiculous - but now I'm sure I didn't. The peacekeepers agreed that it would have been totally out of character for me, and more than anything else, I have no recollection of ending their lives. So that's not possible.

I'm no longer paranoid, and I can see how stupid it was that it ever crossed my mind that it could have had anything to to with me, but I'm still curious as to how my fingerprints were literally all over that handle. I guess I'll never learn why - after all, Seam residents who die get forgotten about altogether within a few weeks.

I'm just shuffling along, not looking where I'm going, and I land my foot in a ditch. I manage to get out, but I can feel that it must be sprained at minimum. _I guess I'll be hobbling to the reaping today, then._

My walk through the town generates a lot of attention. It's unusual for a child to be alone, especially at times like now. Nobody questions it for long though. I think everybody realises that I'm an orphan by now.

Even though I'm used to being alone, I still dream that I'm not. Call it a pathetic fantasy, but I can dream.

* * *

 _Amber Dawns, 18, First Female (District 12)_

This world, Panem... it's a miserable, miserable place. Nobody _cares_ anymore. I mean, I'm sure that _someday_ someone will learn to care again, just like sometime in the past there was once someone who cared.

In a way, I'm a bit like Panem in human form. Once upon a time, I had a caring family and friends. But then Mum got depressed, and Dad left her. And then _something_ \- though I am not entirely sure myself quite _what_ \- happened, and I lost both of my friends too.

What I do know, however, is that I'm feeling awfully lonely right now, and loneliness makes me feel down.

All around me are girls and boys who are having quiet conversations with their friends. Yes, they are nervous, but at least they have somebody to share their worries with. I don't.

Signing in should be the easy bit, but for me it's a sombre ordeal. I hate every bit of it from the prick of my finger to the sharp pain which follows, the ugly bubble of scarlet blood to the crowds that I must navigate to find my place for the actual ceremony. It's hellish, all of it.

The reaping commences with the mayor's customary yet gruelling speech. I don't quite know how I keep sane throughout what must be nearly an hour of absolute boredom, but I manage it.

Well, _I_ manage it. I can't say the same about the girl to my left - she's leaning on the shoulder of the girl next to her (most likely her twin, I would say, judging by their near identical appearances), and she looks very tired indeed.

When our overenthusiastic escort finally takes control of the situation, the atmosphere doesn't really improve. _It's probably because all the excitement she's feeling relates to the definite deaths of six of us children,_ I think.

After all, it's a sick world where that makes for good entertainment, but that's just the kind of world that we're all trapped in.

* * *

 _Charity Cliff, 16, Second Female (District 12)_

It may be cold but that's not the reason why I'm pulling my sleeves as far as they stretch. No - the reason I'm gathering the soft material in my palms is much more sinister. I'm trying to hide away the bruises from where my father beat me.

He does it all the time - except when he's at the Hob, of course. My precious moments of safety, that's what him buying alcohol is. Except, he drinks on his way back, and there's frequently a whole bottle gone by the time the walk home is finished.

He's bad enough when he's sober, but the beatings he gives when he is drunk are unimagineable. Unimagineable, that is, until it's reached the point where you no longer have to just imagine it, and it becomes your reality.

My entire existence is a mess, and I just want it to end. I want to be gone from this world now, I've overstayed my welcome time. Surely, if I was still meant to be here, my life would not be so bad. I think that's the only truth in what my father says - I really do deserve punishing, and the reason for it is that I've been on this planet for too damn long.

It's weird - some girls fantasise about the future, and yet I can't imagine anything more horrific. The future is not a place I want to find myself.

In the end, I have to stop myself daydreaming. Above all else, today's main purpose is the reaping, and so I should accept that and try to focus on it. Many children are scared of this day, but for me it is a release. I'm away from my father for a few hours, and he cannot get to me.

Our escort, Gaia Taite, walks across the platform which was constructed especially for the event she leads, and with a flourish she takes an ivory-coloured slip of paper from the sparkling glass bowl.

"Amber Dawns," she says, and a girl walks out from the eighteens. She looks slightly sad, but it's clear that she has managed to come to terms with her fate quite quickly. It's probably for the best, in all honesty. False hope sucks, believe me.

I've had plenty enough experience with that to know how much it can hurt in the end.

Even when she's staring out into the crowds, Amber manages to keep a relatively straight face. It's rather admirable, considering that she probably doesn't want this in the slightest.

I can't say the same about the boy, Agar Campbell. Agar just begins to wail and as soon as he gets onstage, he is sick all over the spot where the second boy is going to have to stand. I do not envy that boy, that's a lot of vomit and tears.

Now, it's my section. Everybody waits with baited breath except me. It's just a reaping, it happens every year. I don't let the fact that this leads to potential decapitation bother me.

When she calls the name out, I feel shocked, but in a good way. _Charity Cliff._ It means I'm finally free from this hellhole.

Just a week or so more, and then I can finally leave Panem for real. I'm relieved right now, and people stare at me strangely as I walk onstage. One girl in the eighteens glares more than anything.

"Ain't y' ever seen a girl who wanna die before?" Quietly, the words slip through my lips, and she is taken aback. I guess that's not what she expected.

When I'm standing beside Amber, a slight smile on my face, there is absolute silence. How ironic it is that the only happy tribute our district has ever had is a depressed and suicidal one. That says a lot about the place, really.

I'm oblivious to the three names after me - I don't _need_ to know them. I don't intend on killing them, do I? No - these next few days shall be absolute bliss. I'll have my carefree luxury before my certain death.

It's more than I could have ever wished for.

* * *

 _Persimmon Tilden, 13, Third Female (District 12)_

It is Quince who brings Star, so my assumptions must be correct. "He's not coming?"

"Well, since he just passed me your sister to take with me instead, I think we can presume that your father isn't coming," he says half-jokingly, and I just sigh. Father would never have abandoned me like this during Mother's lifetime. Now, he and I exist side-by-side, but even in the same small property our worlds rarely touch. I guess losing someone special can do that to people. It's sad, really.

Quince stares at me like he's expecting me to suddenly become talkative, but I stay quiet. "Gosh, Percy, don't you ever smile?"

"Rarely," I say, putting on a grin. I know it looks as fake as it feels to me, but I can't do much better than this. "Besides - even if I did smile more, getting reaped could still never become a happy thing."

"It depends," he says, taking me aback. "You saw that girl, Charity, didn't you? Now just remember quite how happy she seemed despite knowing she was about to get transported to her death. You could be the same, Percy..." I laugh this off - the idea is absurd. I would never be happy about being sent to die.

He takes a stained piece of what should be pure white cotton, and I frown until he unfolds it to reveal the image upon. It's a smile, to carry me through the arena's tougher times - or, at least, that's what impression I'm under.

"Thanks," I mutter. It's a feeble thing to say, but I'm still quite lost for words.

Star comes and hugs me one final time, and after a minute or so, Quince joins in. The group embrace is welcoming and _safe_ \- much unlike where I am headed now.

* * *

 _Fiyero Brulé, 15, Second Male (District 12)_

Getting reaped sucks so bad. There aren't enough cute girls around here, not whilst we're on the train. Hopefully, the other districts will produce some more _promising_ candidates for the full time job that is being my newest girl.

Despite them all receiving such low ratings on my hotness scale, I figure that since I'm going to be here for a few hours, I may as well have some fun regardless. Who knows - maybe one of them could be a good kisser somehow...

I approach the middle girl - Chasidy or something - and say, "Hey, the name's Fiyero," with a wink. She frowns and walks away. _That's strange,_ I think, _she seemed so cheerful at the reaping._

I don't dwell on it though - no, I move on to the oldest girl instead. Her response is equally miserable, and since I figure that there's no point in trying to bed a thirteen-year-old, I avoid Persellan (or whatever her name is). That all means that I'm alone without someone to sleep with tonight.

It hurts so bad that these girls don't recognise quality when they see it. All I can do is hope that in the other districts they have better taste in guys. After all, they wouldn't want to end up with some fuckboy tarnished by his poverty, would they?

I'm sulking in a corner, and have been doing so for several hours, when a mentor - Olive - comes to find me.

"Gosh, Fiyero, you aren't half unsociable, are you?"

"It's not me who isn't sociable," I mutter. She still hears me, and she sighs.

"Fiyero, you can't just expect every girl who you ever lay eyes on to just... _jump_ at the chance to be with you. Girls aren't like that, they have standards. They're entitled to a choice, you know," she scolds. I'm about to ask how she knows that about me but then she hastily adds, "I'm a good judge of character, I am. I've worked with your type before, and it's no surprise that none of them came home. Boys like you are too conceited for your own good. Remember that."

And just like that, Olive is gone, and I am all alone as the train gets ever nearer to the Capitol.

* * *

 _Agar Campbell, 18, First Male (District 12)_

" _GET THAT THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"_ I scream as one of my prep team approaches me with some scary piece of metal. I run into the corner and crouch down, my head in my hands. I'm shaking badly, knowing that they want to use that on me.

"Agar, I don't want to hurt you." Her voice is soft and soothing, and I turn my head slightly to look at her. Her grey eyes aren't full of malice. I feel that I can trust her, but I still don't want to risk it. No - I'm staying here for now. This corner is my safety. Perhaps this'll be the only safe haven I have here. If it is, then I want to leave here even less.

"I'm not moving..." I whisper, my voice shaking.

"Agar..." I hear the equipment drop on to the tray, metal clanging on metal, and she comes and crouches behind me. "Hey, it'll be all right in the end, hm? Just come back over here, and we can finish this. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we'll be done."

Though she's saying what I know that she's been told she has to say with 'difficult' tributes, I hear sympathy in her voice. I can tell she isn't judging me for it. She backs away, and I realise that I have no choice in the matter. I'm going through this whether I like it or not, so it makes sense to deal with this sooner rather than later.

I crawl out on my jands and knees, trembling, but then I realise how dumb and childish this must look. I can't be seen as vulnerable - I must show myself to be _brave._

So I stand up shakily, and walk slowly over to the makeover table. "Okay," I say. "I guess I'm ready for this now."

The two of them are true to their word, and they try to do everything with as little pain as possible. I like them and I manage to calm down a bit, but when they go I get nervous once again.

Thankfully, my stylist isn't too flamboyant. He just passes me my outfit and makes me put it on.

I look in the mirror to see a boy who vaguely resembles me staring back. I have to pinch myself to test if this is real.

 _But it is,_ I remind myself. _You're going into the Hunger Games... and you're going to die._


	15. Tribute Parade

_Gleam Rier, 29, Victor of the 364th Hunger Games (District 1)_

"Gleam! Crystal! I don't give a fuck about _what_ you're doing right now and _why_ you're not in this room, but get your lazy arses down here!"

Armani may be shouting, but he's sure as heck not as angry as he sounds. He never is - he's just mocking Italia, though he curses a little more than her. Honestly, I don't think that anybody truly like that woman. Tallie likes to piss her off however, and so do I. That's why we're sitting in this room, not doing anything at all.

Some people might tell us to grow up because we're adults, but I don't think that either of us can be bothered with that sort of crap. Both of us spent our teenage years in training, so we have to make up for some of the lost time - right?

We give it a few more minutes before Tallie eventually whispers, "Do you think we should go down yet?"

"Hm..." I say. "I think they might need to become a little more... _suspicious_ first, don't you think?" I walk over to the small mirror and mess up my formerly perfectly styled hair. After me, my girlfriend does the same and then she pulls her top slightly off the one shoulder.

"Perfect," she says with a grin. "Now... just remember to keep a straight face..."

She grabs my hand and we walk down the stairs together. When we reach the bottom, all eyes are on us, and we separate and go to the opposite sides of the room to one another. _Overexaggerate everything, Gleam._

"I thought we agreed to be in here by eight on the dot, Mr Rier and Miss Darenhof. What time do you call this?" Italia asks.

"Um... after that?" I guess. Honestly, she shouldn't ask such questions when there aren't any clocks visible.

"Indeed, Mr Rier. It is nearly nine now, so would you care to explain yourself?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Not really, Italia."

"You weren't... _liaisoning_ with my niece, were you?" Aspire says through gritted teeth, glaring at me as he walks nearer and nearer. It means he cannot see Tallie though, so she sticks out her tongue. Trust her to make me deal with her angry uncle on my own.

"No, I wasn't," I respond, and it's the truth. We really weren't doing anything in that room.

He takes a while, like he's checking me out to see if I'm lying, but he eventually replies to me. "Fine, I'll believe you this time. But I'd better not find you taking her innocence, or there will be consequences..."

I'm about to remind him about all the children who his 'innocent' niece beheaded, but I think better of it. This was only meant to prank Italia, I didn't consider that Aspire might also take it seriously.

"Hey, hey, leave the arguments for later, won't you?" Armani says with a slight grin. "It's the tribute parade. It's starting!"

All six of us rush over to the window, and Pandora gasps. "They have emeralds!" Indeed, they do. All of the District 1 tributes have outfits covered in the green gems. Tiara has a minidress, so I guess she's going to be going for a slutty angle later on if her stylist gets their own way. Platinum has a pair of knee-length shorts, and no top. I think his stylist wants to go for sexy, but that's going to fail miserably.

At the sight of him, Tallie scoffs. Really, it wasn't a good idea of his to make an enemy of one of the most popular victors before he even reached the Capitol. She makes a big deal out of straightening her top again before grabbing my hand, and even though I cannot see him anymore, I know that her uncle must be going bright red at this moment.

Lyndon is in a catsuit and I must say how much it suits her. She looks absolutely stunning in it, and I can tell that Tallie is slightly jealous of her figure. I'm not sure why she would be jealous - I guess it must just be a girl thing. Charming is in a suit and it's only the jacket and trousers which are covered in emeralds. The shirt is crisp and white, and the top three buttons look to be undone. Again, I think the angle will be sexy, but this guy actually has a chance of pulling it off, unlike Platinum.

Opal looks adorable in a crop top and skirt, but right now I'm struggling to decide on who has the worst stylist: Platinum or Peridott, because the toungest boy has been dressed in a floor-length gown. Yes, it is very loose, but it resembles a dress just a bit too closely.

I pity the poor kid, but I suppose that's life.

* * *

 _Selaphine Hallow, 19, Victor of the 371st Hunger Games (District 2)_

"Oh, gosh, _please_ no," Aella mutters as she sees a chariot approaching in the distance. She turns to me, and says, "Please tell me that's not our tributes..."

"Well, Aella, it _is_ the second tribute chariot. I'm afraid that really is them."

She pouts, and I laugh. She looks cute when she's grumpy, but I'd never tell her that. She would think I was losing my mind. Maybe I _am_ losing my mind.

"But, Selaphine, they're _gold!"_ she groans.

For some reason, somebody must have thought that it would be a good idea to spray paint three of the tributes gold and put them in togas. I pity Petra, Glair, and Arminta. The other three look okay, but those first three are in hideous attire. I can't imagine that Petra is happy - she seems quite temperamental.

Ellia, Mason, and Invictus seem to be dressed as stone, in their sandy-coloured outfits. The two boys have on matching suits, and Ellia has a strapless dress which touches the floor. She looks beautiful.

 _Great,_ I think. _Now my job is going to include fending off any unwanted male attention._

Across the room, I see the other victors who are mentoring this year - Aenetta, Ares, Lucius, and Remus - joking with one another. Ares seems proud that his daughter looks so stunning. I'll admit, Ellia really is pretty, but her district partners are distracting from her beauty with their own utterly horrible golden outfits.

"Who was it that you agreed to mentor this year, Selaphine?"

"The second female, so Ellia. You've got the third female, right?"

"Yeah, Arminta. She's young, yes, but so was I when I won, I suppose. You were, too. I think she has a chance. She seems quite fierce for her age."

"And also remarkably uneducated," I remind her.

"She can learn to read and write _after_ she becomes a victor. Until then, there are bigger issues. You know, like her possibly dying..." she jokes with a grin. I smile back - considering she's only seventeen, she's pretty wise about things. That girl's going to go far in life.

* * *

 _Adnee Romulus, 26, Victor of the 367th Hunger Games (District 3)_

"Well, I'll be fucked. The costumes are even worse than last year's, Adnee, and I never thought I would be able to say that..."

Coguell has got a very valid point - last year, they were dreadful, but this year they are even worse. Heck, there isn't even a theme to the outfits. It just looks like each stylist has gone their own way.

Across the room, even Arya is holding her head in her hands. The only comfort is that District 2 was also quite awful, though nowhere near as bad as our tributes' outifits are.

Tech has a horribly misshapen piece of tacky silver material that goes to the ground, and on it there is a robot made from the same material as the dress itself, just in gold.

 _Gold._ The colour appears to be a theme in this year's worst outfits. Take Pixel, for example. Her stylist seems to have decided that it would be cool to wrap her body in golden wire and nothing else. It's indecent and Pixel looks uncomfortable, and in all honesty I don't have the faintest clue about what was going through her stylist's mind when they decided to go for the sexy angle because she really hasn't got the figure for it. Bug's outfit is the same, just in silver. _Okay, so that's some kind of a theme there._

Coguell nudges me. "Hey, he looks better naked than you do." One look at her face tells me that she's joking, but it's a cruel joke so I nudge her back even harder. "Oi!" she screams and jokingly hits me around the back of my head.

"What did I do to deserve that, hm?"

"Exist," she responds without a second's hesitation, sticking her tongue out at me. Honestly? Sometimes she seems like she is half of her age.

I suppose that Therese's outfit is sweet. She's wearing oversized glasses and a miniskirt, and she looks like a Capitol schoolgirl. In a way, though, I hate it even more than Pixel's and Bug's, because of the annoying stereotype that we're all nerds from District 3. I'm not, and I know that my girlfriend certainly isn't either.

The remaining two have such cryptic outfits that even I can't tell what they are. My guess would be that Pixey is a memory card and Dynamo is a random component, but regardless of what they are supposedly, they look absolutely terrible.

Heck, they're nearly as bad as my own year... or maybe this time they're even worse. I never thought I would ever even consider that possible, but right now it seems entirely debatable.

* * *

 _Clodagh Aster, 17, Victor of the 374th Hunger Games (District 4)_

"So... who do you all think has the best chance this year? We need to choose who to put the most effort into, and who to send the sponsor gifts to. Let's bring back another District Four victor..." She pauses. "You have spoken to them, right?" asks Kara.

"Yeah, yeah," says Amur in his typical nonchalant way. "I spoke to a couple of them."

"That's good. Opinions?" Kara prompts.

"I know I'm supposed to mentor Troye, but I think it would be better to focus our efforts on Monique. Troye seems to be the type to get himself killed, whereas Monique doesn't seem to be letting herself form any kinds of attatchments," Khalid says. I try not to agree but I can't help it. I feel sick inside for thinking that any of these tributes stand lesser chances than others.

 _But, Clodagh, you had no issues with killing people a year ago._ Damn my inner conscience. It's true though - I guess I was a typical Career. But the Games changed me, just like they change every Victor. Now I'm just a wreck, and I just want to evactuate all of the tributes from the Capitol and let them live their lives. I've been in the arena, I've killed, I've seen my allies kill and then get killed themselves - I don't want to ever see that much loss again. But I have to, and I only have myself to blame.

I sigh. I wish that I never volunteered. I mean, I'm sure that the trainers could have chosen another girl to take my place. But I'm stupid and naïve and I believed them when they told me I was ready for this. I should have waited - I should have told them that I wanted to wait another two years. Maybe then I would have been able to see sense before I called out at the reaping, not afterwards.

"I was also thinking maybe Monique. Ally's just a bit too young, I think. It's a shame, really. Anyway... Laigh?"

"Are you seriously asking me whether or not I'm going to agree with you that my own tribute is the one with the strongest chance of winning? I have full confidence in Monique," she says, nodding. I'm not sure whether the ease with which the other victors make such important decisions is admirable or terrifying. For Laigh, I'd say admirable, but I'm not sure about the others.

Amur takes a little longer with his decision, and I relax a little. I'm not the only one who believes that decisions can't be made so instantly. It does slightly surprise me that it's Amur of all people though - I'd have expected him to be the one who put the least thought into his decisions. "I'm going to be controversial and go with Sebastian. He seems likeable, I think he could get through the Games if he gets the right allies. I'm not giving up on my tribute."

"I'm also going to stick with my own tribute. Darryn can do this, I think. I believe in him," Ross says. For an old man, he certainly doesn't act like one.

Now all eyes are on me. "Clodagh? You're going to have to make a decision, sweetie. You can't go around avoiding difficult situations. You're a victor now - you're one of us. That's a fact you had better get used to pretty soon. So... who are you thinking that we should back to bring home?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I hate how my decision is going to ruin lives, especially when I've only know them for such a short amount of time, but hopefully it can also save one. I know which tribute deserves it.

"Seb. I feel bad for not saying Kozuki but I think Seb has a much better chance of winning." _There, I've said it. That's over now._

I open my eyes and their jaws are all dropped. "Clodagh, can I talk to you for a minute?" Laigh asks, and I nod so she drags me over to the side of the room. "Clodagh, you've got to stop this immediately."

"Stop what?"

"Forming attachments. Seventy-one tributes are going to die in the next month, maybe even sooner than that. There's a high chance that six of them will be from District Four." She's just plainly stating facts, but I'm beginning to understand what she's trying to tell me. "Clodagh, these children are not your friends, they are _tributes._ That means that they are going to likely die. You're unstable enough as it is, and if you don't face the facts soon then you're going to be a wreck after all of this. I don't want that for you, Clodagh, you're a sweet girl," she says as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. She really is the big sister I never had when I was growing up.

"I'm not forming attatchments," I protest, though I know it's not true.

"If you're not forming attachments then why give them nicknames, hm?" she says before walking back _._ I wonder why but when we reach the window I realise. District 4 are coming up.

When I see the outfits, I gasp. The stylists have got it perfect this year, especially for the girls. Their dresses are flowing and in beautiful shades of blue and green. The trains are sheen and long - even longer than most wedding dresses - so as the chariot moves forward, they move like waves. I wish my own outfit was as nice as that last year, but I'm still the more fortunate one. My life matters more than one pretty dress, even if the others sometimes struggle to see that I still value my life. Just because I can't cope sometimes, it doesn't mean I want to end it all. I know things should get better some day - I just have to wait. Until then, I'm just going to have to find a new way of coping. My current one is ruining Laigh, and that's not fair on her. I can't keep doing this to her.

The boys look amazing too. They have lilac mermaids' tails that shimmer in the Capitol lights, and they have gold tridents and crowns. They're sea kings, by the looks of things, and when combined with the girls's dresses forming the sea it's a wonderful effect. The sponsors are going to love that they're topless, considering that both Seb - I mean _Sebastian_ \- and Darryn look like they've spent plenty of time working on the boats. They have pretty good physiques, and I can bet that Troye is probably annoyed that a fourteen-year-old like Darryn has better abs than he does.

All things considered, I think that we're going to do well this year.

* * *

 _Robert Alsen, 54, Victor of the 338th Hunger Games (District 5)_

I sigh when I see what they've done to the tributes, but Eliza is furious. " _THEY'VE BEEN POWER PLANT WORKERS FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS, HOW_ DARE _THEY DO IT AGAIN!"_ she screams, and Abbi has to calm her down.

I will admit though, she's right. I can't remember the last time that District 5 had even a half-decent outfit in the tribute parade. Actually, I can. It was the last Quarter Quell, I think. The year that Amazonia won for District 7.

All six of our tributes are dressed in identical grey suits, and the helmets make it impossible to identify who is who. Their only defining features are their height, and that's not going to help find sponsors. There are seventy-two tributes, and District 5 sure as heck aren't looking memorable.

The shame of it all forces me to walk across the room and just stare at the ground. I don't want to be here anymore.

Suddenly, I hear Meshel cheerily shout, "All right! Now we're talking!" I look up and everybody - even Eliza - is smiling. I walk up to the window again and stand beside Reuban to see what is happening.

Never did I think I would be able to say this, but it's amazing.

The back of the chariot has now got water pouring out of it, and it has transformed into the front wall of the hydroelectic power station - a perfect representation of our district's industry. As the water hits the tributes, the outfits seem to melt away (so maybe it isn't water afterall), and beneath they are wearing shiny silver outfits. The girls have minidresses and the boys have silver turtlenecks and matching trousers. They all have black shoes, from the looks of it, and as outfits in their own rights they would be considered plain, but the transition makes them seem outstanding.

I turn to Sofee and we both nod. Maybe this year really is the year for District 5.

* * *

 _Clara Donoghue, 29, Victor of the 363rd Hunger Games (District 6)_

"No change?" Rusen asks as I walk into the room.

"No change," I sigh. Even though I'd be telling an outright lie if I said that I thought they would replace Karima, I feel slightly disheartened. It would have made my own job so much easier.

"Well, we're going to be escort-less then, aren't we?"

"Yeah. I guess my job's going to be harder this time around, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," he says. Honestly? An offer of help would have been nice, but I guess that's just Rusen. Never offering to do any more than he has to. It's a miracle as to how he won, but I'm grateful to him. He brought me home, after all. Without his help I would be dead, and that's unimaginable. Even the thought makes me shudder.

I don't know how I'm going to manage this time around. Four slit throats, two knives in backs, and one pity kill - that was what it took for me to get myself home, and that was in a year with just twenty-four tributes. I don't even want to imagine how much blood this year's victor will have on their hands by the end of this. It's just all too horrible.

Our district's chariot finally comes into view and I roll my eyes. _Typical,_ I think as I see five bright orange traffic cones. _Wait - what? Five?_

That's when I see it. Deliah is dressed not in a traffic cone, but in a white blazer. The girl is wrapped in a chain, and her outfit is far too indecent for a girl her age.

Though it could just be that she has an ignorant stylist, I have a sneaking suspicion that the outfit is Deliah's own defiance. Still, her stylist must have been really useless to not notice her in the wrong costume. Unless...

I scream. The crazy thing's gone and attacked someone again, hasn't she? _Well,_ I think, _she had better not come running to me when she realises she's ruined her own chances - I have two other tributes to mentor, and five to escort._

* * *

 _Amazonia Lyons, 42, Victor of the 350th Hunger Games (District 7)_

As the only surviving victor of a Quarter Quell, every other victor seems to think that I have some special sixth sense which tells me about how this year's Hunger Games is going to go. Long story short - I don't, and this is now just becoming unbelievably irritating.

Heck, even Allie's starting to question me. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I really am as insane as they all seem to like to make out. It would explain a lot of things.

The tributes which us two have to mentor are approaching, and I can't help but cringe at how uncomfortable Lennon looks in that brown dress. All three girls have tight brown dresses, and the boys have tight brown jumpsuits. All six of them wear oversized headpieces filled with green leaves.

It's all hideous, it _always_ is. After all, what could District 7 possibly be except trees?

I sigh. _Quite a lot of things, really._ It's a shame that the stylists can never see the immence potential for costumes though. They have a formula, and in their eyes _it works._

Unfortunately, the rest of Panem cannot see their 'brilliance'. It's a shame, because over the years I have mentored some wonderful tributes who haven't come home because of a lack of sponsors alone. Why didn't they get sponsors? Because they had bad stylists.

It's a neverending cycle.

Annoyed, I turn to Allie. "We've got our work cut out again," I say, and the expression on her face tells me that she's thinking exactly the same thing.

* * *

 _Woven Mardell, 30, Victor of the 359th Hunger Games (District 8)_

I don't want to go through this again. Every year, kids die. Every year, I am entirely helpless as they do so.

Let's face it, District 8 never win anymore. I'm the only living Victor, and I won purely by chance. None of these tributes stand a chance because they'll all probably get dreadful stylists. They're all going to die, and all that I'm going to be able to do is watch from the sidelines, all alone as it happens.

Victors' Village is lonely enough as it is, but at least there I have a phone so I can call Ivy. Here, there is no way of contacting the District 11 ceremony rooms. All that there is left for me to do is sob as I see how much the stylists have screwed up yet again with the tributes' outfits.

Talking of the tributes...

I see a chariot with an '8' on it in the background, and I gulp. _This is it. This is the moment where the sponsors will judge them._

When I see their outfits, I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding. They actually look passable this year, so maybe they have a chance of getting reasonably far. Well, _some_ of them look passable.

Velvet has a long white dress that comes in at the waist, and the whole shape of it suits her beautifully. I'm expecting that many people will sponsor her just to get a pretty face as the victor, and others will because of that ridiculously low neckline. Taylor has a patchwork dress which has a high neckline, and her hair is in pigtails. She looks utterly adorable. Brietta looks sweet, and her stylist has clearly taken her hair colour into account with the accessories. The dark blues and purples look beautiful with her black locks and caramel-coloured dress. Jake's suit would be more suited to the interviews, but its simplicity means it's not something that sticks out as being horrific.

Lee, however, looks dreadful. Kilts are certainly not his style. Thomas looks just as bad in his lace nightgown - yes, ladies in the Capitol might like wearing them, but on a teenage boy from the districts it just looks _wrong._

But there's still hope for me and these tributes. All three girls had nice outfits, and Jake's was passable, so maybe District 8 really will have a chance with the sponsors this year.

* * *

 _Ryeleighe Rawton, 37, Victor of the 356th Hunger Games (District 9)_

This year feels weird. All of the tributes are no older than my daughter this time, and it makes it seem all the more terrifying that they might die. I couldn't imagine her dying like that at her age, so all of their parents must feel horrified right now. The best that I can do is try my best, but I hate knowing that it's not going to be enough for at least five of them.

 _At least Adeline is safe,_ I remind myself. I _have_ to keep reminding myself that, or else I would never manage to get through this year.

The other victors look remarkably undeterred by the whole thing. It doesn't surprise me about Emereth, the heartless man he is gradually becoming, but I would have expected Adiel and Clawd to show a little more emotion. Adiel's my best friend, she's practically been a second mother to my daughter - she _knows_ how young even the oldest of the tributes are.

Clawd's still their age himself, so I'd have thought he would have showed a little more emotion, but I guess the Games have changed him more than he likes to let on, the poor boy. This should be too much for any fifteen-year-old to deal with, but yet he copes with it better than I do. It's shameful on my behalf.

"Ryeleighe, I think our jobs just got a heck of a lot easier..." Adiel says. She's grinning from ear to ear and I rush towards the window, eager to see what they've given me to work with.

She's not joking - the outfits are much better than in previous years. The stylists have taken the colour of various grains, and made beautiful dresses and suits in material of those colours. They all wear wheat crowns, but they compliment the outfits nicely. It's the first time in many years that I've felt myself smiling at a tribute parade. _Maybe we can get one of these children out of here alive._

Without thinking, I wrap Adiel up in a tight embrace. It's nice to know that we're not doomed from the word 'go', but now the tributes are just going to have to prove themselves.

For once, they won't be able to blame their misfortunes on their stylists.

* * *

 _Grange Robeni, 24, Victor of the 368th Hunger Games (District 10)_

"The standard's pretty high this year, isn't it?" Alie says, and I nod in agreement.

"The stylists have mostly done a good job so far, yes. But that could change still - District 12 never have any fortune with their outfits."

"Very true," she says, wrapping her arms around my neck. She kisses me and I hear Hettie muttering her disapproval from the corner.

"Annaliese, Grange, I think there are bigger things to concern yourselves with right now than your love life, which at this exact moment is looking far too public. Neither Adam nor I want to see that." _Annaliese._ It always makes me laugh how Alie now chooses to introduce herself as Annaliese, even though she hates that name.

"Speak for yourself - I was quite enjoying the display," says Adam under his breath, the disgusting man that he is. Alie mouths 'ew', and I roll my eyes. We both know fully well that his intentions are to sleep with her, even though she's young enough to be his granddaughter, and his obsession is honestly disgusting. He's the reason she had to get an additional lock on each of her doors back in Victors' Village - she used to get really worried that he was going to enter the house at night and rape her. Maybe it's just paranoia, but I still wouldn't put it past him to do that.

Besides, he was around when the Victor Sex Trade still was, and I know he was in it - I've overheard him bragging about it. Of course, that was stopped around the 336th Hunger Games because of the large amount of Victor suicides it was prompting, but Adam just can't seem to see that talking about his fond memories of his days as a prostitute _doesn't_ make a man in his sixties any more appealing to a twenty-six-year-old woman with a boyfriend. I roll my eyes - he's such an idiot.

Alie goes to the window to look out for when our tributes arrive, and after a few minutes they must do because she says, "They're he- oh, crap! Holy shit, those outfits are bad..."

"What?" I ask as I walk over.

"You heard me - they're dreadful outfits. Take a look for yourself, Grange."

When I look out of the window, I see exactly what she means. Somehow we are expected to get sponsors for a bunch of oversized farm animals. There is a cow, a goat, a chicken, a pig, a sheep, and a turkey, and I can't even tell who is who.

"Well..." I mutter, unsure on what else to possibly say.

"We're screwed..." Alie points out, and I nod. These children have no chance at all now.

* * *

 _Ivy Dawne, 30, Victor of the 358th Hunger Games (District 11)_

 _Carrots._ Of all the things in the world, they had to choose to dress up the tributes as _carrots._

I mean, it's not that I don't like carrots, but they just don't exactly make for good costumes. Like, _a_ _t all._ But there's nothing I can do now but grimace as six oversized and overly orange carrots attempt to steal people's attention when there are much better outfits there, such as District 4 and District 9.

The only comfort is that we come between District 10 and District 12, because District 10 looked awful - actually, they seemed to have gone down exactly the same route as us - and District 12 will be coal again for sure. After all, when have they ever _not_ been coal?

Under his breath, Sorrel mutters, "Damn it, I was hoping I could generate some interest with Castor," and I can't help but agree. It's not every day that you get a volunteer from a district such as District 11, and we could have been able to get quite a few sponsors for a boy his size if he wasn't in a carrot outfit.

As it is, I'm finding myself wondering when a bunny rabbit will hop out and eat them, because that's how much of a joke they look.

"Chye, we're screwed," I say as I walk over to the old man in the corner. In all honesty, I think it is dreadfully unfair to make someone his age mentor. Chye is barely capable of looking after himself, so goodness only knows how he's going to manage to look after a tribute too.

I agreed to take the girl off him a few days ago, before we even knew who the tributes were going to be, but President Blain refused to let Sorrel take the boy off his hands. Apparently, he wants Chye to take control of at least one tribute on his own. It's a 'Victor's responsibility'.

In other words, he wants Luka to die from having an incompetant mentor. He's such a sick man, Blain is. I'd be glad if one of his associates found the common sense to kill him off.

* * *

 _Eilam Holmes, 71, Victor of the 319th Hunger Games (District 12)_

"So, Olive, what were the names of the tributes again?" I ask. Yes, I should probably know them myself, but why bother when there's another person here to remind me?

"Amber, Charity, Persimmon, Agar, Fiyero, Rowan - they're the names. You had better learn them soon, Eilam, you're mentoring the boys."

"Only officially," I say with a wink. Ever since she won, I haven't had to properly mentor anybody. She always does all the work for me.

With an exasperated sigh, she says, "No, Eilam, _not_ 'only officially'. There are six tributes this year, I can't mentor all of them. You're taking the boys, and that's final."

I'm about to tell her that it's a good joke when I realise that she isn't kidding me. This is serious, and she expects me to mentor. _Well,_ I think, _we'll see about that._

"District Eight has to."

"Yeah, well Woven's practically a superhuman. I'm not, so you're going to have to help me." With that cutting statement, she walks over to the window. Groaning, I get up and follow her. The tributes are in the distance, and there's no difference to usual.

"Lumps of coal, how utterly unimaginative," I mutter, and Olive glares at me. "What?"

"Yes, they're lumps of coal. It's the same as always, so that just means we'll have to work harder than the other mentors to get sponsors. We can't give up on them yet, Eilam - not yet." She's practically pleading with me and it's really annoying, so I nod just to shut her up a bit. But I'm not going to help them - they're dead anyway, so why bother?

President Blain gives a hideously boring speech which I don't bother listening to, and then the tributes go back inside. Though Olive seems eager to become acquaintanced with the tributes, I can't think of anything worse.

As she prepares to go down and meet the six again, I can't get one thought out of my head. _Welcome to Hell, Eilam, welcome to Hell..._


	16. After the Parade

_Aestus Woodford, 15, Second Male (District 5)_

"Why didn't you tell us?" Scin asks our stylists, laughing as she goes. I think she's still slightly in shock about the water wall. She trips as she walks, obviously not used to such high shoes, and I reach out and catch her. "Thanks, Aestus," she says, giving me a quick hug.

As much as I hate to be here, and as much as I know that she does too, at least we're here together. The arena should be a lot less terrifying when there are two of you.

"Well, it would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" her stylist says with a wink before he joins the others. Now there are just us six tributes. Okay, well us seventy-two tributes, but only six of us from District 5.

There is a long and awkward silence. None of us seem to want to talk now - we know that we're going to die. Well, five of us know that. Nomi doesn't appear to know, but even she can sense the tense atmosphere.

A tiny girl with a sweet smile skips over from by the District 3 chariot. "Can I get through, please?" she asks in the most adorable voice I have ever heard. "I think I can see a pixie."

"A what?" Nomi asks, and I frown. _Is this girl even sane?_

"Haven't you heard of the pixies? They're little creatures, like fairies. You know about fairies at least, right?"

In all honesty, I haven't got a single clue what she's going on about, but none of us have the heart to tell her that. Instead, I nod and the others join in. Except Nomi, that is. She seems genuinely interested, and she skips off with the little girl. I can hear their little conversation as they go, and I chuckle. It turns out that the girl is herself named Pixey, and she is very obsessive over these 'pixies'.

It's only when I turn around fully that I realise where they are headed. The two are running right into the oldest girl from District 8, and she doesn't look like she can see them coming...

* * *

 _Sherman Locke, 18, First Male (District 6)_

There is a scream, and every tribute appears to turn at once. A group of people near the chariot marked with an '8' move swiftly backward, so the tribute in trouble must be from District 8. Judging by the pitch of their voice, I would also say that they are a girl.

Out of pure curiousity, I walk closer to the scene. The only District 8 girl who is not visible from here is the oldest one, so it must be her who screamed.

Sure enough, a girl on the floor soon sits up and begins screaming at two younger girls who, judging by their outfits, are from District 3 and District 5.

"I'm so sorry," the shorter one whispers timidly, "I thought that you were a pixie. You looked like one from back there..."

"What the heck is a pixie?" she asks, and there is a hint of curiousity in her voice alongside the anger.

"You know, like a fairy. They're wonderful creatures, and they're very beautiful. You're pretty and your dress looks like a pixie dress so I thought you were one. I'm really, really sorry..." she sobs, but she's just unknowingly saved her own back. The District 8 girl seems to perk up at the suggestion thst she is beautiful.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Very, very pretty. I'm sorry I ran into you." _How overapologetic can one girl be?_

"Well," the older girl says as she gets to her feet again, "I suppose I can let you off this time if the sole reason was my beauty."

A girl next to me scoffs, and I can tell that she's thinking exactly the same thing that I am. This girl is far too vain, and it's bound to become her ultimate downfall.

* * *

 _Fiyero Brulé, 15, Second Male (District 12)_

Making the most of the situation, I swagger over to the girl who had fell over. She doesn't seem to notice me at first, so in my most seductive voice I say, "Hey, the name's Fiyero. Has anybody ever told you before how insanely hot you are, babe?"

She screws up her face, and pushes me out of the way. "Don't call me 'babe', you disgusting creep," she says as she briskly walks away. My jaw drops. _Did she just- no, she couldn't have... could she?_

 _"_ Wow, 'disgusting creep', you've just made yourself an enemy real fast. It's going to be hilarious seeing you try to find any allies when you've already got haters," jeers one girl as she walks by and I clench my fists. How dare these girls not fall at my feet, how _dare_ they? Do they not have any standards at all?

I try to find another cute girl to chat up but most people are in crowds. I mean, I could go back to my own district, but neither of the two older girls seem interested in me. To be completely honest, neither of them seem interested in anything _at all._

It's like they've both lost the will to live, but how could they do that when I'm around? My handsome face and my irresistable charm is enough to make even the most suicidal of females change their mind and fall into my bed instead.

My daydreaming about sleeping with hot girls causes me to trip up and nobody catches me before I hit the floor, even though two or three of them are near enough. Instead, they back away. It's like they're deliberately avoiding touching me, and it unnerves me for a moment until I realise what they're doing.

They're in denial, all of them. They're avoiding touching me because they're afraid that they'll become too besotted with my body and they don't want that because they're concerned that I'll be too torn up when they die. They're doing it for my own sake, they _must_ be. Why else would they be avoiding me?

Although it is annoying, because I really wouldn't be upset in the slightest at their deaths, I suppose I can deal with being _too_ adored. At least it means I'm not hated.


	17. First Night

_Castor Aconite, 18, First Male (District 11)_

The bastards in the Capitol have decided it is safer to keep me in cuffs. I thought I was letting myself be free, but apparently this is just going to be the same in a more comfortable and sociable environment.

Actually, when I put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad after all.

As we go up the elevator though, I can't help but worry. _What if the elevator broke? What if there was a fire? What if I tripped and couldn't save myself because of the handcuffs?_ I have to tell myself to stop worrying - any fate has to be better than the one which was supposed to be my destiny. Now that I'm in the Capitol, they can't put me back on Death Row - _they can't._

I begin laughing out loud, and the other tributes stare at me. They haven't got the faintest clue what I'm finding so funny, and if they knew what it really was then they would probably freak out. The reason I am laughing is because I made a fool of the system. Essentially, I'm getting away with murder.

I have to force myself to stop laughing, because to laugh at something like that makes me a monster, and that's exactly what I don't want to be. I'm just as human as anybody else - it's just a tragedy that nobody else can see that.

Besides, I look absolutely ridiculous when I laugh. It's so unfair how some people have much better laughs than other people.

We eventually reach our floor and I take a deep breath. This is the place which is to be my home for the next few days. As the doors open, Carmen says, "Well, tributes, welcome to the new District Eleven!" and the room I see on the other side is like nothing I have ever seen before.

* * *

 _Oliver Hawkins, 18, First Male (District 7)_

Everything is so _big_ and so _colourful._ I feel like I've been dumped into a tin of neon yellow paint, not a dining room.

Honestly? I'm not sure what I should think of this place. The furniture all looks very comfortable and nice but the colour scheme's a bit of an eye-sore and everything is just so... so _lavish._ Back in District 7, I doubt Margret would have been able to afford even one of these dining room chairs - not even if she spent her life savings and if I took out extra tesserae.

It's all genuinely _that_ extravagant in here, and it makes me slightly angry that there are people - _children,_ even - who are barely surviving in the districts. There are toddlers dying of starvation and yet these people pay stupid amounts of money for items made from the wood that men back home collected for very little money at all. The system is a fucked up one, that's for sure.

Samara shows us each to our own rooms, and I gasp. This room is bigger than my entire house in District 7, and that's to share. I'm in utter disbelief that this is not a room to be shared, and I feel a little uneasy - _guilty,_ even. Yes, I know that it is a kind of condolence prize for being sent into the child murder games, but it still feels wrong that I get so much when others get so little.

"Dinner is at seven," she says, "so don't be late. The bathroom is through that door - you need to get yourself a shower..." Samara wrinkles her nose as if to tell me that I smell and I feel dreadfully insulted. I'm not a Capitol citizen and I don't intend on ever being one. I don't intend on ever having to live by their guidelines.

A world where you choose your acquaintances based upon what fragrance of perfume they wear or what brand of shampoo they use seems awfullly superficial to me, and I'm glad I won't have to be a part of it for long. I'm not sure what would be worse - death in the Hunger Games, or a life where you are judged for using rose shower gel rather than lavender shower gel.

I think the shower gel would be slightly worse.

* * *

 _Bug Huxley, 17, First Male (District 3)_

Dinner is delicious, but I'm feeling rather full after the starter alone. This is far more food than I would have ever gotten back in District 3.

To me, it seems really cruel that the Capitol make us tributes go from being starving malnourished in the districts, to overfed in the city itself, and then back to being starving and malnourished in the arena. All this change in our diets can surely not be good for us when it happens so suddenly. For me, this is all too much to deal with, but Technika would be in her element.

 _Technika._ I really miss my little sister. I miss my girlfriend, Mæddi, too. The two of them are such good company that I'm not sure how I'll manage without either of them in my life. I guess I'm going to have to though. I need to try to be brave and just do my best to survive. I'm no use to them dead, but if I can somehow make it out alive... well, that's a futile dream, isn't it? I'm not that good. I'm already dead, and it would be a heck of a lot better for everyone who I know and love if I wasn't in so much denial.

I hear a nervous whisper from across the table of, "Are you okay?" It's the little girl, Pixey, and she looks concerned for me.

I don't want to worry such a small and innocent child, so I just say, "Yeah, yeah, I'm absolutely fine. Don't worry about me," even though I know that I'm not okay and that I'm only hurting her more in the long run by lying to her now. Children don't like being lied to - Technika certainly doesn't.

But Pixey seems so out of it in general that I know that I shouldn't be concerned about her long-term wellbeing. She's not going to make it out of the Bloodbath alive even, I swear. I truly, truly hope that I am wrong because she seems like such a lovely little girl, but she's going to die no matter what so I needn't get concerned about what might upset her aged thirty.

She won't make it until the age of thirty, the gamemakers will make sure of that.


	18. First Morning

_Riley Redix, 12, Third Male (District 9)_

I wake up earlier than I usually do. This whole thing is stressing me out, and we're not even twenty-four hours into it yet.

I try to get back to sleep, but I'm too terrified of what's to come to do that. Instead, I leave my room and knock on the door which I remember to be Centra's. Usually, she comes immediately for me, but today she is taking her time.

After about ten minutes, I realise she isn't there so I chnage my plans and go to Radia's room. She should know where Centra is, the two are close.

When I reach her room, I hear sobbing. Now I know where Centra is: she's gone to Radia. I knock but nothing changes, so I knock again. This time, it's louder, and the sobbing stops for a moment. I hear footsteps and then Radia opens the door. Her face is red and blotchy, so I know it was her who was crying. She comes out and closes the door behind her.

"Riley. Um... what is it?" she groans.

"I was trying to find Centra. I need a hug."

"You need a hug? Right, well... fine then," she says before wrapping me in a brief embrace. _She hugged me!_

I can't remember the last time she embraced me of her own free will (usually, it's me who hugs and unwilling her), and it makes me feel fuzzy inside. My sister _does_ love me, she does!

I go back to my room feeling happier, and it's not until I'm back in bed that I realise that I never actually spoke with or hugged Centra. I guess I'll just have to see her at breakfast instead.

They do eat breakfast in the Capitol... right?

* * *

 _Troye Pacifica, 18, First Male (District 4)_

I'm late getting out of bed, and even though I rush I am still one of the last people to get down to breakfast. It means I don't get much choice about where I sit, because even though there are four chairs left, I am told that two of them are for the remaining victors - Laigh and Clodagh. Since I don't exactly want to end up sitting by one of those, I take the seat next to Kozuki. It's at the end of the table so there is nobody on my left, and that makes it ideal. It means I don't have to socialise much.

I grab a bread roll and something called 'strawberry jam' which the victors seem to have a liking for. I do what they do and spread it on the bread and then I take a bite. It's so delicious, I can't believe I've never eaten it before.

I finish the slice of bread and jam before saying, "When I'm a victor, that's what I'm eating every day."

From behind me there is a laugh, but it's a nervous one. I turn around to see who it is - Clodagh. That girl terrifies me - she killed six people last year, and her arena looked horrifying. What makes her even scarier is that she seems so caring now, and so _moral_ even though last year clearly showed that her morals are tainted.

Me? I'm never going to slit anybody's throat. That's just too direct for my liking, too inhumane. I'd rather blow them up - that way, I'd never have to look my victim in the eye as they died.

Laigh appears beside her and the two take their allocated seats. Now there's just Sebastian to wait for, and he's taking his time. Everyone goes about eating their breakfast but once the first few people are finished and he still hasn't arrived, Clodagh stands up with a sigh. "I'm going to find where he's at," she says, and she just leaves a plate which is half full with food.

By the time she returns with him, only Amur, Laigh, Ally, Monique, and I are remaining. The others have all gone to get ready. He takes the empty seat beside her, the one he was always meant to sit in, and silently gets some food to eat. His face is red and his eyes look bloodshot - he's been crying.

Honestly? If he doesn't sort himself out soon, I think that kid is going to die in the Bloodbath. I, for one, won't be crying for him when his face appears in the sky. The weakling should have known better than to volunteer before he was ready.


	19. Training Day 1

_Deliah Saunders, 14, Third Female (District 6)_

"You're all arseholes, the lot of you," I say to the two avoxes who are holding me back. They seem to think that I'm about to kill somebody even though my hands are in cuffs behind my back. It's annoying, because I wouldn't kill anybody right now. Knock them out, yes, but only them two pesky avoxes - the other tributes aren't giving me any grief at all.

Besides, I can't evaluate their awful fighting skills if they're unconscious.

"Deliah, be quiet," Clara says. "I don't want you kicking up a fuss today, okay?"

"Okay," I mutter, still angry that I'm being kept like this. I feel like I'm being held hostage, with these avoxes as my kidnappers.

The elevator doors open and the first thing that I see (once the other tributes have begun to clear, that is) is the sheer amount of stations. There is so much weaponry just sitting there, waiting for me to train with it.

But I can't, because I'm still being held back. I swear, if they don't unlock me soon then there is going to be trouble. They can't keep me like this, I'm a _child._ Aren't children supposed to be cared for, not punished?

Evidently not, since we're being told to kill each other in under a week's time. I sigh - this is going to be hellish.

* * *

 _Persimmon Tilden, 13, Third Female (District 12)_

I begin to braid my ponytail. No, I haven't got a hair tie for it and I know I'll have to undo it before I begin training, but it gives me something to focus on other than the silver swords and spears and knives which are glistening under the artificial lighting. Silver is usually such a pretty colour but now I'm beginning to see it in a different light. It is _dangerous,_ it is _cruel_ \- but most of all, it is likely the last colour that I will ever see. Silver will be the colour that kills me.

The victors are making us line up by district - girls in age order, with boys the same behind. Unfortunately for me, Amber and Charity aren't exactly short, to say the least. I can't see the head trainer.

The girl next to me, from District 11, looks about my age and when she's looking in my direction I smile at her. It's a sad smile, but she returns the favour with one that's equally as nervous as mine was. She pulls a face and I find myself lightening up a little. It feels weird - I'm never this happy. So far though, I'm liking this girl. She seems friendly enough.

I'm guessing that the head trainer is a man, because the voice that eventually begins to address us is incredibly low in pitch. "Tributes," he shouts, "welcome to your training. Today is day one. You shall get three days in here. On the third day, the afternoon shall be spent on individual sessions. That is your chance to impress the gamemakers - however, I would suggest that you make full use of all the allocated time in here. You may only have a short amount of time on your own to impress them, but your training score is based on everything you do from now onwards. Try to learn a wide variety of skills, because the ability to light a fire or to camoflage yourself could prove to be just as valuable in the arena as being able to shoot an arrow into somebody's heart."

When he says this, I feel relieved. I'm sure that I'll be capable of learning some survival skills, but I doubt I could manage to put an axe in somebody's skull. I'm not strong enough to so something like that, for a start. I'm not sure I would want to, even if I could. It's nice to know that I might have some chance at _something._

* * *

 _Platinum Victorian, 17, First Male (District 1)_

After the head trainer has finished his completely boring and pointless speech, I turn to the boy next to me. "You're in the Career alliance this year, aren't you?" I ask him. I may as well secure my allies right at the start, because the victors are hardly going to make it any easier to make them later. No, I need to find allies before Crystal - or, _Miss Darenhof,_ as she insists on being called - interferes and tells them what an apparent useless idiot I am.

Honestly? I don't know what her issue with me is. She certainly didn't have the same issue with the other tributes calling her Crystal. All she did then was grimace slightly, not _scold_ them for something they didn't realise was improper.

"Yeah, I am. I'm guessing you want to enter into the alliance Petra and I have, but you can correct me if I'm wrong." The way he talks, the boy sounds so cocky. I'm already not too keen on him, but he's from District 2 so I guess I'll be needing him as an ally.

"That's my intention," I say in my most confident voice. He's ever so slightly taller than me so I stand up as straight as I possibly can to try and close the height gap. It doesn't work, he's still about an inch taller.

Luckily, the girl he walks over to is much, much shorter than me. If I didn't know who she was, I would have guessed she was much younger than she is. She still manages to look intimidating somehow though - it's weird.

"Dude wants to join our alliance, Petra."

" _Our_ alliance, Mason?" Petra's voice raises along with her eyebrows. It would be comical if she wasn't as deadly as Mason seems to believe she is.

"Yes," he says in his overconfident voice, making Petra roll her eyes.

"Mason, dear, there is no 'our' anything, especially an alliance. If I recall, I told you that you were cocky and unlikeable and that there would be no alliance between us." Mason's jaw drops, and Petra turns her attention to me. "What's your name?"

Her eyes seem to permanently glare and never soften, and it's really beginning to unnerve me now. But I manage to cough out my name, "Platinum."

"Right, well then, _Platinum,_ let's see if you have any sense, shall we?" She begins to circle me, and I gulp. If she's trying to intimidate me then it's working. "You've trained before, I presume?" I nod. "And that's why you volunteered?" I nod again. _Gosh, this girl is good._ "Okay then. On the conditions that you prove yourself to me over the course of the day, I'll offer you a place in my alliance. But you'll have to prove yourself, got it?"

I don't even consider refusing her offer - I think she would kill me for it the moment I step inside that arena. No, the only way for me to even stand a chance of surviving this is if I ally with Petra. There could be worse allies, I suppose.

I nod.

* * *

 _Ellia Reyner, 16, Second Female (District 2)_

"Hi," says a friendly voice near me.

"Hi," I reply timidly. "Who are you?"

The boy pauses a moment, like he is considering his response. "I'm Seb. District Four."

"Elle. District Two," I say with a slight smile. District 4 means he is likely a Career, but he seems nice enough. I mean, _technically_ I'm a Career tribute. Honestly, the word is a load of nonsense. I doubt I'm the only 'Career' who is reluctant.

"Nice to meet you, Elle," he says, extending his hand. I shake it. "I recognise you from somewhere."

"Probably my dad. He's a victor. Ares Reyner - you know him?" I look down at the ground in shame. Yes, he is my dad, but I wish he wasn't. If he wasn't then I wouldn't be in this mess.

"Yeah, I know him. He doesn't seem a very nice person when he's on television, I'm sorry."

"He really isn't," I say, though I'm not sure why I confess it. Maybe it's because Seb seems like a genuinely nice and caring person.

"Did he force you to volunteer?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

"Something like that," I mutter. Not sticking up for myself isn't something that I'm proud of, but it's not worth denying now that he knows that I dislike my father.

"Same here," he mutters back, and I raise my eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Minny said she'd kill herself if I didn't volunteer for her."

"Who's Minny?"

"My girlfriend." My eyes widen and he must be able to see but that's not worrying me right now. His relationship is, because he seems like such a sweet guy. _What sort of a girlfriend threatens to kill herself if her boyfriend doesn't kill himself?_

"Well, Seb, she sounds like a crap person, no offence." As soon as the words slip out of my mouth, I immediately regret it. He looks hurt by my comment, but only for a short amount of time.

"She is, yes. It's just annoying that I didn't realise that until Clo talked to me on the train."

"Clo?"

"Clodagh. You know, last year's victor."

"Yeah, I know who she is. I just wouldn't have thought her to be that kind of person. She seemed much too cruel to be compassionate."

"She seems nice enough to me," he says in a slightly harsher voice than before, and I know it's a warning to me to stop. From the way he's speaking, she's obviously helped him quite a bit.

I smile, and ask him where he wants to train first. He chooses the plant station - an unusual choice for someone from District 4, though I suspect it may just be to get away from the typical Careers at the weapons stations - and we walk over together. I think that, if we weren't in the Hunger Games, we could have become good friends.

Sadly, we are in the Hunger Games, and in a few weeks we will likely both be dead. Life's a bugger sometimes.

* * *

 _Natalie Lockell, 17, First Female (District 10)_

I can't even bear to look at the weapons stations. Every time a sword or knife is thrust into a dummy's 'body', I don't see plastic and metal. No, I see real humans - I see tributes, and when the weapons make contact with them I see them dying over... and over... and over again. It's like a cycle, and it's a truly haunting one.

I _try_ not to let it bother me. I _try_ to focus on the camoflage station but everything I do is just so futile. It all just keeps coming back to the swords and the knives and the axes and the maces and the spears. My heart is telling me to stay with the mud and berry juice paints and be safe, but my head is telling me the opposite. It is telling me to go to the danger zone and confront my fears face on.

My head wins this particular battle, and I wash my hands free of berry juice before making my way over to the throwing knives station. The weapons just glisten in the light and they're pulling me in, making me want to use them. The targets there look less human anyway, so maybe it'll help me focus.

I go up to an empty bay and take one in my hand. It's surprisingly light - much lighter than a butchers' knife.

I hold it in midair and I'm about to chuck it across the room when I realise that I haven't got a clue what I'm doing. Thankfully, there is an instructor who does know what to do. She helps me with my posture and tells me where best to aim. Then, she makes me throw it.

Though it's nowhere near a fatal hit, the knife sticks in the board and it's contained within an outer rim.

"I hit the target," I mutter in utter disbelief. Then, pride consumes me and I scream aloud, "I hit the target! I hit the target!" and everybody within earshot looks at me like I'm an insane person.

I don't let it get to me though. If I can hit the outer ring on my first throw, then goodness only knows how awesome I could become if I keep at it.

* * *

 _Thomas Ambarella, 16, Second Male (District 8)_

The food served in the cafeteria is just as nice as the food upstairs. Today it is just a pork stew thing, but the flavours in it are fantastic. The whole dish is really nice, but it's just a shame that I haven't made any allies yet to eat the meal with. Some company would have been nice.

I look around. There are some clear alliances forming already. A few larger Career groups, a Career pair between a girl from 2 and a boy from 4, and the two naïve girls from 3 and 5 - they are the main few, but there are other groups of tributes where it looks like an alliance between them could be reached soon.

For me, I can already tell that it is going to be particularly hard to find allies. I try to talk to people but they just brush me off because I'm a volunteer, and in their heads that means I must be a Career. Nobody my age or ability wants to ally with a Career tribute, and no Careers want to ally with an outer district tribute. My options are pretty limited (as in, there are zero of them), and it's a harsh realisation.

I had fully intended on just walking into the training centre and automatically making friends and allies. It never occured to me that people would be so judgemental - I thought the boy from my own district would be the only one like that, but apparently people become more suspicious when their lives are at stake.

I suppose it is only logical, but it still hurts.

I wish my district had more victors than just Woven Mardell. Yes, she is a lovely woman, but there is only one of her. Maybe if there was a second Victor then I would have been able to make friends with them instead of a tribute, but I'm not that lucky. Nobody in District 8 could ever be lucky, we're the doomed district.

* * *

 _Radia Redix, 15, Second Female (District 9)_

Centra and I decide to work on making shelters. It's something which neither of us can do yet, and it will probably be a useful skill in the arena.

It would probably be advantageous for our younger brother, Riley, to learn as well, but he got distracted by a trainer about ten minutes ago. He was told that climbing was fun and that was enough to sell him. I'm sure he's being the perfect little student - he should be, considering that our older sister, Anima, is a teacher herself. Admittedly, she doesn't teach climibing, but still: she spends a lot of time trying to get us to be good people. She doesn't want us to have as many regrets as she does.

I don't know what the job description or title is, but I know that she regrets ever taking that night job at the mayor's house - the one which she does to boost the income for us all. It's strange, because I've never seen Dia look so regretful when she goes there in the day to clean, or look such a mess when she comes home. I've got a feeling that Anima's line of work there is very different to cleaning, though I'm not sure what it could be instead. The family don't seem to need any services other than cleaning and cooking, and I know that Anima definitely isn't a cook because she has a nasty habit of making everything taste really inedible.

"Radia? Radia?" I hear calls, and Centra is clicking in my face. "You were daydreaming again," she says with a frown. "Radia, you can't do that in the arena."

" _I know,"_ I say. "Enough people have told me already."

"Yeah, well..." she begins, but she stops mid-sentence, unsure of what to say next. "Hey, do you want to look at this hammock I've put up?" _Topic change, nice._

"Sure," I say with a grin. I need to make myself be happy, or else this is going to be even worse than it needs to be. It's bad enough as it is, I don't think I could deal with it getting any worse.

* * *

 _Nomi Spark, 12, Third Female (District 5)_

Pixey's off again. She thinks she has seen another mystical creature. It's a bit strange, her obsession, but it's hilarious. The Capitol people will love her for it, and together we can become Panem's next big television stars.

The prospect sounds thrilling.

I chase after my companion and we end up in one of the weapons stations. "No, they're not there..." Pixey says sadly. Honestly? I'm beginning to doubt whether her fantasy friends really are just that: a perfect fantasy.

We're about to leave the station when one of the girls from District 2 comes up. "Hey!" I say, flipping my hair. Pixey giggles, but the older girl is surprisingly unamused.

"What are you doing here?" she asks in a calculating voice that terrifies both me and my new best friend.

"Um..." I begin, before I run off, Pixey following right behind me. I hear somebody call the girl 'Petra', so I'm guessing that is her name. It's a really pretty name, I will admit. I don't think any name could truly ever be any greater than Nomi Spark though. One day soon, I'll be famous. My name will be surrounded by flashing lights and Capitol crowds will be screaming my name.

I can't wait for that day to come, so it had better be soon.

When we're back at the potions station, we are both panting heavily. "You hirls might want to work on that stamina," the trainer points out, and I can't help but find the words he says true. I really do need to improve my stamina, which is why I then grab Pixey's wrist and drag her over to one of the physical training stations.

I'm not going to be beaten by something as stupid as having poor stamina.


	20. Second Night

_Scoria Jelenic, 16, Second Female (District 11)_

When I'm out of the elevator, the first thing I do is briskly walk to my suite. I've actually had to do work today, I feel sweaty. Sorting berries on a screen is harder than it looks.

In no time at all, I'm underneath the hot water. There are so many buttons and it takes me a while, but I eventually figure out which buttons are for shampoo. I select a lime scented one and then I choose a matching scent of conditioner, body wash, and some weird oil that the Capitol seem to like to have masses of smeared all over their bodies.

Well, I presume they must like it, because when I press the button it flows out of a hole in the wall like a waterfall and I can't figure out how to make it stop. Rather than fussing about with it, I just hop out of the shower and dry myself. I can't be dealing with that crap right now.

I know it's only dinner with the other tributes, our mentors, and our escort, but there are too many beautiful dresses in my closet here for me to not wear them. The clock says that I have half an hour before I must go down to eat, so I decide to try on as many dresses as I can.

After all, how else am I supposed to figure out which ones look absolutely perfect on me, and which ones are just average?

The first gown I try on is deep purple and I struggle to get it on. _Whoever made this clearly didn't know my measurements..._

After the seemingly impossible battle to get it off, I eventually win the war and replace it with a neon pink dress, but when it is on it just looks a little too garish.

 _Third time lucky,_ I tell myself, and I cross my fingers before opening my eyes. In the mirror, I can see just how beautiful this turquoise gown looks. _This is the one,_ I think, and I go to dinner.

* * *

 _Darryn Allain, 14, Third Male (District 4)_

I take my seat and smile at Sebastian next to me. We won't be allies, no, but he seems nice enough so it's only courteous to remain polite to him. Kozuki is opposite me again and I curtly nod at her.

Monique, however, I ignore. She doesn't seem to particularly like me - heck, she doesn't seem to particularly like _anyone_ except from that Mason guy and that Tiara girl. The three seemed inseparable earlier today, though I don't doubt that their unified display is mainly to terrify the other tributes. Three eighteen-year-old Career tributes would not hesitate to backstab one another, no matter how much they deny it.

Me? I want dependable allies, not people who will kill you the moment you stop being useful in their eyes. I bet that the trio will be disposing of any allies they get the very second they have completed their role in the alliance, and that elimination process includes one another.

Surrounding me is light chatter. Ally and Kozuki talk politely, and Sebastian joins in with Clodagh and Laigh's conversation. The three are laughing a lot, and I can't help but think about how easily he would fit into the existing fold of victors. I have to stop myself from thinking like that though, because if he goes home then that means that I have died. I'm not ready to die yet, and I'm sure as heck ready to put up a fight if it comes down to it.

Just because I'm young, it would be wrong to assume that I am fragile. I am as brave as any other Career boy - maybe I'm even braver than Troye is. He seems slightly adverse to using real weapons, after all.

I finish my meal and eventually, I get bored of not doing anything so I interrupt Sebastian's conversation.

"Did you want something, Darryn?" Clodagh asks, and I shake my head. "Right, well... are you okay?:

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply slightly too bluntly, and Laigh looks at me with slight amusement on her face. She probably thinks I'm really weird right now - they _all_ probably do.

"What's the issue then?" Laigh asks, and Clodagh blushes slightly. Evidently, Laigh doesn't usually act like this.

"Nothing, nothing. I was just bored, and you all looked like you were having so much fun that I thought I would- actually, you know what? Don't worry. I'm fine."

"No, no, it's no big deal. Here, join in the conversation if you wish. It's nothing confidential," Clodagh says with a smile, and Sebastian also smiles. Laigh's face remains blank, but she isn't frowning now so I take it as a good sign.

"Okay."

* * *

 _Taylor Lovelace, 12, Third Female (District 8)_

In the next suite along from mine, there comes a loud screeching sound. Velvet may be absolutely stunning physically, but her singing certainly leaves much to be desired.

I go over to my bathroom and turn on my shower, but I don't get in it. No - it's just to drown out the sound of Velvet's voice. Honestly? I'm getting a little bit tired of that girl now, she's so _overdramatic._ She also seems a little fickle to me, constantly telling that Pixey girl that she is so cute because she knows that Pixey will give her an ego boost in return.

I sigh. _Some people just aren't very nice._

On my bed, there should be my nightgown but that's been taken, probably for washing. Do they even wash clothes here? Maybe they just bin them. It wouldn't surprise me, what with all the other ridiculous habits they have.

Rather than making a fuss, I just take out a random different one from the chest of drawers. It fits, so it'll do.

I get into bed, but I must have left the shower running because after a while, two avoxes run in. One nods, and they go to turn off the shower, shaking their head as they do so. He's probably astonished by my naïvité. The other just brings me a hot chocolate.

She sits on the end of my bed, a frail woman. She looks familiar, but I can't figure out from where. This woman is worn, tainted by all her years as an avox. The woman I would have known would have been younger. She would have been prettier.

It's only when she smiles at me as she takes the empty mug that I fully realise who she is, and it takes me aback. _Can it- no, it can't be... can it?_

"Mom?" I whisper. The woman just nods and hugs me, and I'm overcome with a sense of relief. _She didn't die._

 _She's alive._

 _She's alive._

 _She's alive._

But very soon, I won't be.


	21. Second Morning

_Invictus Nero, 14, Third Male (District 2)_

I wake up and I feel... _different._ I feel prepared for the day ahead, but yet I feel like I want to stay in bed a little longer. The mattress is awfully comfortable, it's like a cloud that I'm sinking into.

 _Sinking._ The thought makes me jump out of the bed. It's like an instinct, moving away whenever something like that happens. I think it all stems back to the academy back home in District 2. There is a quicksand simulator, and one time I didn't find a way to escape. I just kept sinking... and sinking... and sinking, and it carried on until I 'died'.

That was a horrible, horrible experience. I've tried to avoid the hazard simulation sessions since. Thankfully, I didn't see any machines like that yesterday, so I think I'm going to be okay.

Actually, who am I kidding? I'm _Invictus Nero,_ I'm _bound_ to be okay.

I walk into the bathroom and take the shampoo off the side. I got an avox to deliver me some in a bottle last night. Yes, there are buttons you can press, but it's all overly confusing, in my opinion. A bottle is much simpler and much more fot for purpose. The people of the Capitol rely on technology a little too much, and things like buttons in the shower is just ridiculous.

Most tributes wear their pyjamas to breakfast, as do the mentors, but the ones I have been given are less than flattering. Me? I want to look _hot,_ so I change into one of the numerous suits my stylist has chosen to put in my wardrobe. It's smart, black, and probably designed for a formal dinner, but it's equally appropriate for an informal breakfast.

Well, I think it is, at least, and that's all that really matters.

I leave my suite and swagger into the dining room. I put on my sexy voice and say, "Hello, ladies," before I turn to the table itself and realise that nobody is here. That's when I see the time on a clock on the wall: 5:10am. _Crap._

I race back to my room - people would think I was stupid if they saw me in here at this time in the morning.

* * *

 _Azalea Acacia, 16, Second Female (District 7)_

Giana is still pretending to be a nice girl, giggling and smiling at people. Whenever I try to talk to her though, she sweetly says, "Of course, my dear sister," and kicks me hard on my shin. Everybody seems to love her, but they only know the façade. I know the real her.

They should count themselves lucky.

Sooner or later though, she'll break. Everybody does at some point. When that happens, people will finally realise that I'm not being petty. They'll realise that she really is a monster in disguise as an innocent child.

Sighing, I take the jam and spread it on my bread. Even if I did complain, nothing would get done. It makes a heck of a lot more sense to just battle on. It'll all be over soon anyway. Somebody is going to find a way to kill me, and she'll die too.

It's funny how everything is going to come back to haunt her. All I can hope is that when she is killed, she can feel the pain she has put me through over the years. The thought of her going through Hell makes me smile a little, but I feel guilty about being such a cruel and horrible girl so I try to eliminate the mean thoughts from my mind and keep a straight face.

Rather than surrounding myself by her, I return to my bedroom. There are plenty of clothes, but I can't help but get drawn to a green top. Green is Tyler's favourite colour, after all. I know that it is unlikely that he will see me, but there is no harm in looking camera ready in case of a change of plan.

I sweep my hair back off my face and look at myself in the mirror. I look pretty and prepared for this, which is what I was aiming for.

I need to be better than my little sister _somehow,_ and if sexiness is then only way to do that then that's what I'll work on. My freedom is a worthy sacrifice - I'll be losing it for sure in a few days' time anyway.


	22. Training Day 2

_Brietta Luna, 15, Second Female (District 8)_

I walk straight into the training centre the second the elevator opens. I don't even wait for my mentors to tell me to enter, I just do it. I need to get as much practice in as I can, especially since there are so many of us this year.

As I jog over to the poisons station, a girl bumps into me and we both fall to the ground. "Oops!" she giggles slightly. "Gosh, I'm so clumsy today. Sorry about that, I think it's my nerves. You know, because I'm about to enter a death match with seventy-one other children and all that," she jokes, her voice soft.

I smile. "I'm Brietta."

"Therese," she says as she extends her hand to me. I shake my head vigorously and she looks at me strangely.

"Your hand is covered in grit from the floor, I don't want the cut on my hand to get infected," I explain. Yesterday I tried the knife station, but all that I managed to do was slice my palm. I class it as a silly mistake on my behalf, and I know to be more careful now, but the Career girl near me thought I was a useless crybaby.

How do I know? Well, she told me. I guess they're not taught about tact in their special academies. It's probably not deemed a necessary enough life skill - unlike knowing how to cut off a small child's head with about seven different weapons, that is.

"Oh," Therese says. "Well, I'm sorry, I guess."

"You apologise too much," I say with a grin.

"Yeah, I guess I do," she replies, grinning back. "Hey, as an apology for apologising too much, do you want to train with me today? I'm not suggesting anything serious, if you don't want, but it'd be nice to have someone to talk to throughout the day..." Her voice trails off as she stands up.

"Sure," I say, and she helps me up too, taking care to not touch my left hand. She seems sweet - I like her.

* * *

 _Ally Johnson, 14, Third Female (District 4)_

I laugh slightly at my own utter incompetence. A girl from District 4 without any allies? It would just be absurd, and completely ridiculous on her own part. Therefore, I _need_ to find some allies, and soon. I can't let that useless girl be me.

I look around, trying to see if I can find any of my district partners among the masses of tributes. I see Monique but she is with other older Career tributes so she's completely out of the question. I never particularly liked her anyway - she seems too detatched for my liking. I keep looking, but most of them seem to be surrounding themselves with other ferocious tributes.

Then I see Sebastian talking to a girl from District 5 by the plants station, and I realise that maybe I might stand a chance of becoming his ally. After all, I know for a fact that the girl he is talking to right now wasn't a volunteer.

Walking over, I begin to shake slightly. It's silly really, because I've seen enough of him on our floor to know that he isn't frightening, but I guess I'm just nervous. I know how important an alliance can be when you're in the arena, and I don't want to be left in the vulnerable position where I'm without one.

I wipe my hands on my shorts so I can't feel the sweat forming puddles in my palm as much, and I put on a smile.

"Hey," I say to Sebastian, and both he and the girl turn to face me.

"Hi, Ally," he says.

"Ally?" The girl sounds puzzled. "You told me that Elle and I were your only allies so far..."

Sebastian laughs, and he smiles at me and then her. "No, no, Delta. You've got it all wrong. Ally is her name, you see," he tells her, and she nods. A simple misunderstanding.

"Yeah, well, um... that was kinda why I came over to you. I, um..."

"You what?" he asks.

"Iwasgoingtoaskyouifwecouldpossiblybeallies."

The girl laughs, and Sebastian himself just smiles. "Care to talk slower?" she asks.

I sigh. "I was going to ask you if we could possibly be allies. I've seen you interacting with Clodagh and Laigh on our floor and you seem sweet enough, I think we could get along quite nicely. If you wouldn't mind giving me a chance, that is..." _There. Now he just has to respond._

I'm half expecting Delta to interrupt again and make her own decision but, to her credit, she doesn't. "I'll talk to Delta and Elle about it."

"Talk to me about what?" asks a blonde girl walking over, and I blush a little. I guess this must be Elle. The girl looks familiar, and not just from the past few days.

"Ally here wants to be our ally," Sebastian says with a grin.

She turns to me. "Your name's Ally?" I nod. "It's pretty. Like you," she says shyly before nudging Sebastian's arm. "So... you wanted to ask us about our opinions on a new alliance member, I'm guessing?"

"Something like that, yes. Opinions?"

Delta shrugs and mutters something under her breath which makes Sebastian nod in agreement, so I hope it's positive. Elle is a little louder, so I can hear her as she says, "I say give her a try. You seem to be a good judge of character, Seb, I trust your decision."

"Okay," he says, and he comes over to me with Elle in tow. Delta walks slightly behind. "Welcome to the alliance, Ally," he says. Delta's smiling now, and Elle comes over and gives me a very quick hug. Her embrace is warm, and it feels safe despite its briefness.

* * *

 _Natalia Tressington, 17, First Female (District 9)_

"Ew, what the actual heck?" The trainer stares at me blankly. "What? My nails are fucking perfect today, I'm not covering my hands in some mud paste just to camoflage myself, no way."

He blinks, and then calmly asks, "Do you want to die?" If he was talking to anyone other than me, then I would think it was sarcasm. But it is to me, and I'm too beautiful to treat that cruelly. Nobody would dare to.

"Of course not, are you a dumbass or something? Why would I want for that?" I get up and begin to walk away when I realise that it's about somebody brought him off his high horse and taught him a few lessons about modesty. So I do just that: "Get a life, you freak. Like, just get a fucking life. You're not the perfect one - that's me - so stop acting like you're something that you're not. You're not special, not in the slightest. You're just scum like everybody else here, ha! Just muddy, dirty scum..."

I continue walking away and I hear him go over to the female trainer at the same station and mutter, "Is she drunk, or just downright crazy?" with his voice full of utter disblief. _Crazily stunning,_ I think to myself. It's not a lie - I genuinely am the most perfect person I've seen on this planet. Just ask my boyfriends, they agree.

In my hurry to get away from him and his equally weird friend - they called me drunk, the cheeky bastards! - I don't pay much attention to what is in my way. It would have never in my life occurred to me that some stupid District 12 boy wouldn't actually think to move out of my way.

* * *

 _Agar Campbell, 18, First Male (District 12)_

I fall to the ground, a pain in my stomach from where the conceited girl's nails dug into my skin. She really needs to get them cut because they _hurt._

A small crowd of about three people gathers momentarily, but the trio quickly disperse. The girl goes too.

I'm glad that she is gone, because she was scaring me, but I didn't want to show it because I need to seem brave in front of the other tributes. I can't afford to let them see me crying if I don't want to die. Which I don't.

With great pain, I get myself back up because not a single person offers to help me up. I'm not exactly surpised - everybody seems to think I'm weaker than the average boy my age, both physically and emotionally, and they don't want to be seen by me in case it makes them a target. But it's not my fault that I'm physically weak: I'm from District 12, where we don't work from age 10 or whatever it is in the other districts. So I was at an automatic disadvangage to nearly all the others before this thing even began - even than the twelve-year-olds!

I go over to the plants, a station that doesn't require any strength at all. But knowing what I can and can't eat is absolutely paramount to my survival, regardless of what the Careers think are the most important stations.

"Back again, Agar?" the trainer asks with a smile on their face. I nod, and they sigh. "Honestly, Agar, you may as well not leave this station since you just keep returning. This is your fifth time here, you do realise..."

"I know," I say with a slight smile as I go up to the machine. I want to master this, but I haven't managed to even come close so far.

After completing the test with great difficulty, I see my score: 35.6%. It seems like I'll have to come back here again after lunch.

* * *

 _Vernon Keld, 17, First Male (District 10)_

"Hey, sugar," I say with a flirtatious wink as I sit down beside a brunette girl who has a nice arse. She looks about my age, so maybe I'll be able to get some tonight. I just have to play this right and show her that I'm not going to kill her first.

The girl wrinkles up her nose, and it's definitely cute. "Who even are you?" she laughs, but when I put my arm around her shoulder she grimaces.

"I'm Vernon. And I already know that you're pretty," I say, winking again.

"Did you just seriously try to chat me up with something that lame?" I frown. _Did she just call my line lame?_

"Pardon?"

"That was lame, and it was a joke, right?"

"No..." I say, grinning at her. "You're pretty. For real."

"Well, I hope I am. You know, since I'm a model and all..." She flips her hair, then picks up her plate and stands up. "Don't talk to me again, yeah? You're a creep."

As she walks away, my jaw drops in disbelief. _She did not just call me a creep._

"Damn!" I scream, and the little girls on the table next to me stare at me, and it's awkward as fuck so I bin my food and leave the dining hall. I don't like awkward situations, and those two girls were putting me in one.

* * *

 _Malachi Kinch, 13, Third Male (District 6)_

Peridott, Taylor, Pixey, Nomi, and I - or the 'little alliance', as we like to call ourselves - all sit around a table full of weird smelling paints at the camoflage station. Peridott, Taylor, and I bonded over the fact that we know we'll probably die in the Bloodbath, and I'm not sure how Pixey and Nomi got into the alliance - but they did, and even though the rest of us have very little in common with them, we're all glad that they're here. The two are hilarious - what, with Nomi's absolute and unfaltering belief that we don't _really_ die (no matter however many times we tell her that it is all _real),_ and with Pixey constantly running off to find pixies and other mythical creatures... let's just say that they're a great morale boost for all of us.

"Ew, that's vile," Nomi says as she is told what is in the paint mix our trainer is using right now: animal blood and mud, apparently. "What's wrong with acrylic?"

The trainer stops covering her arm in the stuff, and looks up at Nomi. "What's wrong with it is that it would be impossible to make in the arena. It's practically certain that you will have access to soil and water - which, by the way, doesn't even need to be clean - and animal blood should be simple enough to find. You'll be able to make this with ease."

"She has a point, Nomi," Peridott says, and Nomi turns to him.

"Shut up!" she laughs, and pushes his arm gently. "I'd like to see you cover your arm in that stuff, I would. It's a bit hypocritical of you all to make me do this but not do it yourself, you know..."

Now it's my own turn to smile. "Nomi, you're being silly. We have to take turns. You're first, that's all."

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Fine."

* * *

 _Peridott Sims, 14, Third Male (District 1)_

Nomi finally goes to paint her arm, but then Pixey runs off screaming, "It's a troll! It's a troll!" so Nomi automatically abandons the station and goes to retrieve her. I turn to look at what she saw and I see a grossly obese Capitol man, his skin dyed grey-green. I can see why she was scared of him, because he looks absolutely horrific.

"Well... they're going to be gone a while..." Taylor remarks, and I nod.

"Yeah," I say. "They probably will." Knowing them two, Nomi will end up dragging Pixey to the dining room to steal some leftover cake, and that will take them _forever._

I thank the trainer for her intended kindness, and Taylor, Malachi, and I all move to the spear throwing station. "Why are we here, Peri?" Taylor asks, her voice full of nerves.

"Well, um... well, none of us are trained, and you heard what she said. Animals are vital, and we're going to need to be able to get them in the first place. So we're going to need for at least one of us to be able to use a weapon," I say, casually omitting the fact that it is unlikely that any of us make it far enough to become dependant on these animals. I don't want to think like that anymore: I want to finally get some belief in myself that I _can_ do this, that I _can_ go home alive.

I mean, it's hardly like there has never been a victor who is younger than me, is it? Of course there has been - within the past few years, even. That District 9 boy, Clawd. He may have just been damn lucky to avoid confrontation throughout and to have his sole opponent already so injured at the end that she didn't even want to fight back when he went to kill her, but luck is a really funny thing. Who knows? Maybe it'll strike again, and if it does then I can only hope that it'll be for one of my allies or me.

Malachi nods, and walks over to the bored looking trainer. "Excuse me," he says, "could you help us learn how to use javelins?"

I swear, I have never seen somebody looking quite so eager in my entire life as that man does now. It must be really boring for him when the only people who come to the station don't need teaching because they're Careers.

"Of course, of course!" he exclaims. He quickly looks over at Taylor and I, and he grabs six small javelins and two ordinary ones. He goes up to a target, says, "Watch," and throws one of the ordinary ones. It's a bullseye, of course.

I see Taylor's jaw drop. I mean, for me, seeing people do well at things like this is fairly ordinary. I know people back home who train, but she doesn't because she is from District 8.

"Okay, this time, I'm going to tell you what I'm doing as I do it," he says, and we watch with keen eyes as he goes into a long and detailed explanation process before throwing again. It doesn't hit the bullseye this time, but it isn't far from it. "Okay, now it's your turn. Try holding it how I did, and I'll correct your positioning before you throw," he says, guiding us to a target each.

Taylor is up first, and both Malachi and I clap when it hits the outer ring. It may have fell out of the target, but if she was aiming for somebody's torso, their hips would now be hurting. "Good job," he says, and he moves on to Malachi, who doesn't succeed. His spear just bounces off the ground five metres in front of the target even though his positioning was perfect. I guess it's just not the weapon for him.

Finally, it is me. He helps me with my throwing position, and then I let go. It's four rings from the centre, and the instructor's eyes glisten. I think it might be some kind of weird, glittery contact lenses that he is wearing, to be perfectly honest, but I wouldn't be sure. In the Capitol, almost anything is possible.

He has tears in his eyes, and I can tell that he is quite an over-emotional person. "That was really good. You did me proud just then, but I have a better idea."

"What?" I ask.

"Come with me - all three of you, come." We follow him into a section behind the javelin targets, and he turns on the lights. "Okay, have any of you heard of darts?"

"Yeah," I say, but Taylor and Malachi are still speechless that I managed to get the javelin to stick in the target at all.

"Right, well they're a little lighter than the javelins were, so you might be able to get them to stick easier, Miss..."

"Lovelace," Taylor says. "I'm Taylor Lovelace, and these are Malachi and Peridott."

"Right, well... here, copy me," he says, guiding Taylor through the process of throwing a dart. When she throws it, it is one circle closer than with the javelin and it doesn't fall out. Taylor is beaming.

He goes to Malachi, but Malachi guides him to me with a smile. I think he has figured that throwing weapons aren't his forté.

Me, however? Well, it hits the target and like Taylor, I'm closer than before. "Look," she says, "I don't think javelins or darts are exactly what I can show the gamemakers, because I'm hardly anything impressive compared to you, so I'm going to try the knives, okay? You stay here and practice, Peri: you've got natural skill." She smiles at me, and I hug her and then Malachi.

"Bye for now then," I say, and I turn my attention back to the trainer.

* * *

 _Therese Patterson, 16, Second Female (District 3)_

Brietta and I walk away from the snares station, arm in arm. "Hey," she says, "you were good at that, Therese!"

"Not as good as you were at identifying edible and non-edible plants though, Brietta. That was really something special. I mean, you got over eighty percent, for goodness' sake! Really, you should sing your own praises a little more. There's no reason why you shouldn't, not in the slightest!"

"You think?" she asks hopefully.

"Yes, I do. You're, like, a child progidy at plant identification," I remark, and she laughs.

"Thanks, I guess." We continue to walk towards the elevator together, but I have to stop to re-tie my shoelaces. I don't expect her to wait for me, but she does. "You done?"

"Yeah. Thanks for waiting," I say.

"No worries, Therese." There's a weird silence for a second, and she fidgets her hands. "Look, I was just wondering... how would you feel about becoming allies? I mean, you don't have to or anything, but I really enjoyed today. It was nice to have some company, and I think the arena would get lonely all on my own, you know? And- oh, gosh, I'm going on, aren't I?"

"Yes," I giggle, "you really are!"

"Yeah, sorry about that. But anyway... how about it?"

"Okay, sure. I think we'd make a good team in there." I smile at her, and she smiles back. There is only room for one person in the elevator when we arrive, and because some of her district partners are in there but none of mine are, I let her go first. She thanks me, and we part.

It feels nice to know that I've got an ally, I feel less scared now somehow. Maybe it's because I no longer have to fear what can happen to me all alone, or maybe it's because I think Brietta and I could become really good friends - I'm not sure. It could be both. No matter what the reason is though, I know that my mentor will be happy with me. I've got an alliance now, so Coguell has something to mention to sponsors.

Maybe I do stand a chance.


	23. Third Night

_Pepper Trill, 16, Second Male (District 11)_

I still haven't gotten used to coming out of the escalator and walking among all this luxury, knowing that the velvet chair in the corner is avaliable for me to sit on whenever I want, and I won't even get punished for it.

It's almost as though five birthdays have come at once, and for brief moments sometimes I can trick myself into believing that the Capitol's generosity comes without conditions. But, of course, it does, and those conditions are that I get murdered on live national television for their own entertainment within a few weeks. And I'm not sure it's quite worth the nice accomodation I'm in for these few days.

My life is more precious than material things, and if I could switch the luxury here for my home with its possibly eternal safety, I would do it without a second's consideration.

I've finally come to terms with the whole "kill or die" thing, but I still don't like it. I mean, what right do I have to kill another child just like me so that I can go back to my own home, when it means denying them the same opportunity? It just seems dreadfully _wrong_ and _immoral._

I'll have to do it, but I'm keeping my reluctance to the very last second. I don't want to become a monster: nobody does. And if I can help it, I'd still rather other people kill the young ones. It's horrible that they have to die at all, being so little and all, but if they must then I would rather their blood be on someone else's hands. I could never forgive myself for ending a twelve- or thirteen-year-old's life.

I guess if it comes down to it, though, then I will. The Games change people, and it's out of my control whether or not they'll change me too.

* * *

 _Florian Cowbell, 16, Second Male (District 10)_

My soup makes strange, swirly patterns as I repeatedly push my spoon around the bowl. I don't want to eat it. I don't want to eat _any_ of their lavish Capitol foods. I just want to go home.

"Florian, are you okay?" Grange asks me and I nod. "Okay... but, honestly, I can get someone to make you some different food if you want me to."

"I'm fine," I say with a sigh. Why do I sigh? I sigh because of how unfortunate I am - that's why. There are so many questions in life that are going to be left unanswered forever.

Most of them are stupid things, really: why my parents gave me this ridiculous name I have to bear until my dying breath, and such. Florian is a crap name, but now I'll never even get to find out their reasons for giving me it.

"Are you sure, sweetie?" Annaliese asks. "I mean, you're awfully quiet. If you want something doing, we can get it for you. You're in the Capitol right now, they have simply no limitations on what they can bring you." Though her words sound as though they are in the Capitol's favour, there is an obvious hint of sarcasm in her voice. She must think that they're as ridiculous as I do, and it's a small comfort. She stands up. "Grange," she says, "a word, if you would."

The two walk to the side of the room, occasionally glancing in my direction. Annaliese seems a lot more concerned about me than Grange does, and _he's_ the one who is my mentor. No, he personally is more concerned by Adam Rowkin walking over. It puzzles me as to why he says, "Adam, get the fuck away, or you'll regret it," at first, but when the older man continues towards them and wraps his arm around a disgusted Annaliese's shoulder, I can see clearly why. The man is uncomfortably close to her for someone of his age, and it clearly bothers both her and Grange.

The two must be close.

My mentor pushes the older man off of the young, female victor and the pair walk back over, obviously neglecting their conversation about me. They both smile at me as they sit back down.

"Look, Florian, an avox can bring you some more homely food," Grange says quietly. "You can't just starve yourself this close to the Games."

"I'm not starving myself. I just dislike the soup," I say through gritted teeth. _The soup isn't the only food which I dislike here,_ I think.

"Eat the bread then. Nobody's going to judge you for it, but the gamemakers would mark you down if you went into the private sessions tomorrow looking even slightly malnourished." He's got a valid point, so I reluctantly pick up a seeded roll. It won't be long until I can't even eat this.

Let's face it, dead people can't do anything at all.

* * *

 _Barley Maze, 16, Second Male (District 9)_

I wake up to my own screams and the terror that at this time in a few days, my head could easily already be detatched from my body. It really isn't a nice thought - but it's definitely a realistic one.

I shrug it off. I can't let it get to me. I don't let anything else get to me, and that fact has served me well though the years. Why should I let it start to consume my whole self with fear now? There wouldn't be a point in it.

I go to the bathroom to splash my face and look in the mirror. I've changed a lot recently. I had even begun to grow a little bit of facial hair, but it was waxed by my prep team. Now I have none at all, and it is a little bit annoying.

I mean, I waited many years for that to arrive. And when it finally came, it was treated as taboo and unacceptable.

The orange duvet covers of my bed could indeed look much more pleasant. However, it doesn't matter. A brave boy would snuggle underneath the covers, and deal with his demons as they took their turns to visit.

A wimp would shiver and get next to no sleep at all, but I'm not a wimp. I'm a warrior.

I can't let such a silly thing as my possible death out me off my slumber, can I?


	24. Third Morning

_Kiora Plessant, 16, Second Female (District 6)_

Mom would usually be in the kitchen, making the whole family breakfast at this time of day. But now she's probably doing something different. My absense will probably cause change, even if it's only temporary.

For starters, it'll be a lot calmer in my absense. There's only one challenging teenage daughter for Mom to deal with now, and I'm sure everybody will feel happier eventually. The grief will fade, and they'll all realise that I was only ever a hinderance in their life. One less mouth to feed, one more lot of money to be spent on medication for my father: that's how life works. They'll be fine in the end, I know it. Their upset can only be temporary, that's all it _ever_ can be.

They're only human, how can they grieve forever? They can't, and that's the simplest way to put it. They'll move on. Lellia will probably find the perfect man someday, and they'll have children and I won't be a part of their lives. They'll never know their aunt and I'm okay with that.

I'm _okay._

Lying down whilst being awake, it's making me restless. So I get up, and take a look at myself in the mirror.

I'm pale - paler than ever. But I also look tired and worn out. I'd love to see how my prep team and stylist manage to make me look pretty for my interview, because right now I'm an ugly mess. I sigh - this is all so _awful._

Clara would probably tut at me if she realised that I didn't take a shower this morning, but I honestly cannot be bothered. After all, I took one last night, and I'm not entirely sure but I don't think that _that_ much dirt can build up on my body overnight.

No, I just throw on a crimson vest and some grey yoga pants, and walk into the dining room as I scrape my hair into a bun. It's probably really messy but I couldn't care less. It's practical and it's not falling out, and they're the only things I give a damn about at this point.

Rhoena is already there, and she smirks. I roll my eyes, but she just laughs. Hearing no spite in it, I frown. "What?"

"Your top is on backwards, Kiora. You might want to change it before the mentors see." I look down, shocked at what she has said, but she is right. _Oh._

"Um... thanks, I'll go back and change it."

"No problem, you go do that!" she calls.

I switch it and I look in the mirror before I leave the room this time. I consider doing my hair again, just for the sake of wasting away the time before I can eat, but it doesn't look nearly as bad as I thought it would, so that would be an entirely pointless exercise.

Upon my return, Clara, Leone, and Deliah have all arrived and chosen a seat. I smile, but Clara frowns. "That's a horrible shade of grey."

"I like it!" I protest.

"I didn't mean it in that way, sorry. I meant against the red... it just looks _wrong._ Karima would have disapproved."

"Yeah, well Karima ditched us," Rhoena points out, "and now you're becoming her conceited clone." _Ouch._

"Rhoena..." Leone warns.

"What? It's true."

Clara looks distraught at her comments, and seems to be holding back tears as she says, "It's very stressful, Rhoena. I don't usually have to deal with so many tributes, and I don't usually have to play escort either. I'm sure you would be equally irritable in my situation." She gives my district partner a pointed look, and Rhoena sighs.

"Fine. I'm sorry," she says, "but that was still a cruel comment." I just shake my head: there's tension at the table, and it's making me feel awfully uncomfortable.

* * *

 _Hugo Bennet, 14, Third Male (District 10)_

"...and that's my whole point! Hugo agrees with me - don't you, Hugo?" My district partner glares expectantly, but I just bring my glass up to my mouth, avoiding getting involved in the conflict that is rising. "Hugo?" I take another sip of my orange juice, avoiding their quarrels.

"Just leave the boy be," Natalie says, and I'm thankful. "So what if he isn't interested in your argument? Neither am I, to be perfectly honest. Neither is Sylvie. You're just being annoying now, Vernon. Just quit it, and leave us all be."

"What if I don't want to?" he asks with a smirk.

"I don't care about your feelings, Vernon," she says, sounding very pissed off indeed.

"No, you clearly do. You're just denying it. You want to sleep with me - _all_ of the girls here do. You're just scared to admit how much you're falling in love with me."

"I'm married with twin sons, you idiot! Of _course_ I want to sleep with you, like absolutely _everybody_ else here!" she says, rolling her eyes.

"See? You're finally admitting it. Well," he says with his horrible trademark smirk as he stand up to leave, "you know where to find me when you're ready for me." He winks, and then he's gone in his own suite.

"Learn to recognise sarcasm!" she calls before he closes his door. "Honestly..." she mutters, "that boy needs teaching a lesson or two..."

"We all already knew that, didn't we, though? We knew that from the very start. He's an arsehole, Nat, and you should ignore him," Sylvie says as she separates the different foods on her plate into individual little piles. Honestly? I find her to be a little bit too obsessive over things like that, but it's her own life that she's using up. It's not worth pointing out, because she seems sweet enough and I don't want to start an argument with her.

I nod in agreement with Sylvie's statement - if she could stop all the conflict on our floor then that would be brilliant - and I promptly return to my own room. After brushing my teeth and putting on some footwear that seems _slightly_ more appropriate than velvet slippers, I make my way towards the elevator where Florian already waits. The doors open and we get in along with a single girl from District 11 and a group of tributes from District 12.

Though there is plenty to discuss, nobody says a word. The Hunger Games are horrible, and none of us want to be here.


	25. Training Day 3

_Sylvie Ryder, 16, Second Female (District 10)_

Out of the elevator, I go straight to the plant zone. Yesterday and the day before, I tried to master using a butcher's knife, but I didn't manage to get anywhere near as good as I would need to be to present it as a skill to the gamemakers. They would just be bored to tears, and I want to secure myself a reasonable score.

Yes, I know that I am almost certainly going to die, but I don't want to die as a disgrace, so I'd really like to not get a 0. One of those hasn't been given out for years - not even once within my lifetime!

I grab a basket of berries and I begin to sort them into piles. Each type of fruit is isolated, so I can then decide on whether they are edible or not as a whole.

The girl I was training with yesterday approaches me, and I smile. She seemed friendly, and I liked her. "Hey," she says.

"Hey, um..." I say, realising that we never exchanged names. "My name's Sylvie."

"Mine's Kiora. Gosh, you'd have thought we would have gotten formalities like that over yesterday!" she laughs.

"Yeah." I smile. She helps me finish sorting the berries, and then I go to the testing machine.

"Good luck!" she calls. "I'll wait here for you!"

As soon as the timer begins, I get mind blank and start randomly clicking on silhouettes. It's all guesswork, and I'm dreading my results as I finish.

"How was it?" Kiora asks, and I fake a smile.

"Fine, I guess," I mutter, but it's a lie: it wasn't fine in the slightest!

"So..." she says, biting her thumb nervously, "I know we haven't known each other for long, but it's getting to the end of training and I think the arena would be too scary alone, so..." She takes a deep breath, and looks me in the eyes. "Look, would you consider being my ally? You seem nice, and I need someone in there with me. I think we could be a good team." I have to take a moment to respond, but I decide that I can trust her.

"Sure, it'd be an honour," I say, and a flood of relief washes over her features, making her smile slightly. As she goes over to the trainer, I take a look at the score on the screen: 42%.

 _I'd love to be your ally,_ I think, _but I'm not sure that I'll survive long enough..._

* * *

 _Luka Rivera, 12, Third Male (District 11)_

The trainer is probably meant to have come over and helped me by now, but she just looks amused. Apparently, most tributes have managed to make some kind of fire by now, but I'm useless at it.

However, I cannot give up, because I need something to show at evaluation to fall back on if my knife throwing is bad. This is my only remaining option, I _have_ to succeed.

Perseverence proves to work in the end, and eventually I get a fire. It makes me smile a little, knowing that I'm not _entirely_ incompetent. Now... all I've got to do is to speed that process up so I'll actually be able to fit it in the session...

After reducing my time to around 20 minutes overall I realise that I need help, and I go over to the trainer.

"Um... I'm Luka..." I begin, which is a shit way to start, really. I decide not to waste any more time with formalities, and I instead get straight to the point. "Look, I've been having a couple of issues with my fires, I was wondering if you could maybe, um... help me?"

"Yeah, sure," she says, and I smile as she walks over to my bay. "Show me."

"What?"

"Make a fire. I need to observe your technique before I can correct you," she points out, and I sigh. She's right, sadly. So I sit back down on my knees and begin to rub twigs and stones again, only this time someone is watching me with a critical eye.

* * *

 _Rowan Leyton, 12, Third Male (District 12)_

Everybody nearby stares at me as I throw my bow to the floor. There's a deafening silence, and it's making me feel uncomfortable so I leave the station.

The thing is, I have less than an hour left in this room, and that means less than an hour for me to find any skill at all. You would think that in a room this big, everyone would manage to find _one_ station for them at minimum, but as it is, I'm defying the odds.

At school, they always taught us that it was "good to be different", but I never felt like that when I was moping around the streeets of District 12 all on my own, and I don't feel like that now. Different has never felt any more of a bad thing than at this moment.

I keep walking away until I reach a corner, and I crouch down and sob. Nobody can see me, nobody can hear me, nobody can tease me... crying is a small comfort that I can still allow myself today.

I'm utterly useless. With a good trainer and at least eight arrows, I only managed to hit the target _once._ Even then it was the outer ring, because I'm just terrible.

But not being able to do archery isn't the issue here, not _ultimately._ No, the issue is that I cannot do _anything,_ and I'm going to look a mess in my private session.

I may as well not even turn up for evaluation, because the outcome would be pretty much the same.

Regardless of my self-doubt, though, I just dry my eyes and walk over to the camoflage station one final time. Applying the paints messily on my arm, I just frown.

I remember a phrase from Hunger Games long ago, and I find it awfully appropriate right now: _may the odds be ever in your favour!_

Oh, if only that was the case for me...

* * *

 _Opal Mahogany, 13, Third Female (District 1)_

"Oh, for goodness' sake, why not?"

"Lyndon dislikes you. I like Lyndon, and I don't want conflict within my alliance - _especially_ before we've even reached the arena! No, I'm sorry, but you'll have to go. I can't deal with you," Petra says to Charming, and I smirk a little. I'm not the worst off District 1 tribute this year by _any_ means. I have an alliance, I think Pandora has managed to line me up a tonne of sponsors... I'm _fine._

I'm also particularly glad that it's not Petra's alliance which I'm in. That's getting too big now, and if they're not careful then someone will turn on the rest of them, and it's not going to be pretty in the slightest.

No, rather than sitting with a large group of tributes, I just sit with Invictus. My alliance may be small at the moment, but in the arena it's likely that tributes will drop out of their larger alliances when they realise how corrupt people like Petra are. I'll get so much screen time when they come running to Invictus and I, but I'll get even more when I slit their throats deep, severing everything inside.

As exciting as murder is, though, I don't exactly like it occupying my mind as I eat, so I push it to the back of my mind as I consume some weird stew. My ally looks equally displeased with its taste, and we both agree that the cake table looks much more appealing, so we each take a clean plate and pile it high with our own choice of chocolate sponges.

Upon our return to our table, we both begin eating practically immediately, and I smirk. "Well, that's nicer than before!" I giggle, getting crumbs everywhere as I say the words.

"Opal!" Invictus grimaces. "I don't want your spit on my food!" I laugh it off, but I'm secretly mortified. I look like an immature little child at the moment, and that doesn't look good on me - not even in the slightest way.

If all else fails, I'll just have to hope that the sponsorships Pandora secured were all unconditional agreements. If they're not, then I'm screwed.

* * *

 _Delta Joule, 17, First Female (District 5)_

We're all packed tightly into a room which is quite clearly designed for fewer tributes than now, and we are just given one simple instruction: "Wait."

It isn't until a voice is heard on the loud speaker that I realise how this whole thing works, and so, seeing as I think I have plenty of time, I make my way over to my allies.

"Hey, Delta," Seb says, and I smile.

"Hey, Seb. Hey, Elle. Hey, Ally."

"Hey!" the other two girls say in unison, and we all burst into laughter for a short moment. It feels nice, like it's relieving me of the tension that's building up inside of me.

"So..." Seb begins. "What are we all showing the gamemakers?"

"A bit of everything, I guess," I say, getting in there first. "Throw a couple knives, make traps, plants - those sorts of things."

"Nice," Elle says quietly, and she flashes me a faint smile. "I'm going to do something with a trainer, I guess. Fight them. How about you, Seb?"

"Me? Um... I'll be doing pretty much the same. Going against a trainer, using a hatchet... maybe if I get the time, I'll do some survival stuff. How about you, Ally?"

"Just knives, I guess. It's all I'm good at enough to show it off as a skill, you get me?"

"Hey, don't put yourself down! You're great at throwing knives, you wouldn't _need_ to show them anything more," Seb says, wrapping his arms around her. "You'll do fine," he says as he pulls away from Ally and hugs me too, and then he finally moves on to Elle. He whispers something in her ear, and she smiles and nods. "You're going to do awesome, Elle!" he says, and we just all watch her go into the training centre to present herself to the gamemakers.

"Well," I say, "isn't this just all a little terrifying?" I look from Seb to Ally, from Ally to Seb, and the two just start nodding slightly.

"We'll get through it," Ally says, but she sounds uncertain, and rightly so. Who knows how long she has left to live? It could be years if she is the Victor, or it could be just days if she is one of the unlucky seventy-one.

No matter what happens in there, at least three of our alliance will be coming home in coffins.

* * *

 _Jake Hallywell, 14, Third Male (District 8)_

Watching all the other tributes enter the room and not return, it makes me nervous. How am I supposed to know what exactly is going to happen to me in there if I don't get to ask the people who have already been in this year?

The whole thing just seems utterly illogical to me.

I wish Mum and Dad and Beattrice were here with me. Not to compete, of course, but for moral guidance before the arena. I'm actually terrified, and I could really use their help right now.

I need calming down, because this whole ordeal is stressing me out. Of course, what'd be the point in that though? We're all going through Hell, and it makes much more sense to make us all hyperventilate together, right?

The thought makes me scoff. The Capitol really don't have a fucking idea about how district children work and think. They're just content with their very selective breeding, and they don't give a single shit about _our_ emotions and _our_ wellbeing.

One by one, the waiting room empties itself. And as the tributes leave, my fingernails grow ever shorter and more jagged from biting them. This is some scary stuff, particularly for someone my age.

The fact that all that I have become adept at is a crossbow is concerning me greatly at the moment. Yes, they are helpful in the arena, but I can't help but think that they'll be wanting more from me in this session. It's just a bloody pain that they can't see that it is possible to succeed in there with very few skills.


	26. Private Sessions

_Tiara Holden, 18, First Female (District 1)_

I practically bounce into the room, I'm that excited. Now is the chance for me to prove myself to the gamemakers, and prove myself I will. As the first tribute in the room, I'll have their full attention for sure.

Then again, having their full attention means I have very little margin for error. I must stay focused throughout this thing - I _must,_ or else they'll mark me down for my sloppiness.

I walk into the room, and what must be more than thirty pairs of eyes stare at me. I smile, and a few of the men smile back. _Well, this should be easier than I expected._

I'm caught up in the weird quiet down here - don't judge me, I've never been in this room alone before and now the only other people are about twenty metres above me and they're behind a screen, so _of course_ it's unsettling - and it makes me momentarily forget where the archery station is. Not wanting to waste any time, however, I call over a trainer and go over to a sparring mat.

We only battle lightly and, by the end, the only injury that either of us have is a small bruise forming on her left cheek. I thank her politely, but it's necessary for me to move on to elsewhere at this point. I need to go to the archery station, because that's my main skill. I would have to be stupid to not show my talent off to the gamemakers, especially considering that I've been training with a bow and arrows for many years now.

I pick up the bow that I used to train with, and I take a silver arrow from the shelf. I walk over to the target zone and stand behind the white line. I load the bow, take a deep breath, aim it perfectly, and then I fi-

Well, I'm about to fire it, but blades are now growing out of each of the silhouette's hands, and it is approaching me at high speed. Panic stricken, I just fire and shut my eyes tightly.

When I hear a faint mechanical 'click', I open my eyes. I have to blink a couple of times to readjust to the light that is now everywhere, so different from the dark of my closed eyelids. The human-shaped targets here for evaluation do not have rings around the points - only neon orange circles - but I know fully well that if it did, that would have not been a bullseye. However, it's still within the small 'fatal' circle, so I nod once to myself. It'll do, considering the circumstances.

Now that it is still, I take another arrow. I know what can happen now, and I'm prepared for it if it does it again.

To account for the few feet it has moved, I take a couple of steps back before aiming and shooting. It hits the same target I was aiming for before - the chest - and it hits dead in the centre this time around. I take a third arrow and aim for the temple. Again, it lands in the circle - and though it isn't quite perfect, it's damn close to it.

I put down the bow in its place before tightening my ponytail until I can feel it pulling on the back of my head. When I turn to the gamemakers, I'm smirking and they are grinning from ear to ear. After giving an overdramatic curtsey, I giggle and they dismiss me.

I make sure to wink at one who looks important as I leave the room.

* * *

 _Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)_

As I walk into the room, I stop to take a few deep breaths. There is no need for me to worry about this in the slightest: I'm a trained killer. As long as I can achieve a score that's higher than _fucking_ Petra Silverwood's, I should be fine.

That could prove to be a difficult task, though, because _damn,_ that girl is good.

I don't let such ridiculous thoughts bother me for long, because I know that I'm being silly and paranoid. Of _course_ I can score higher than her! She's seventeen and tiny, so I'll _always_ appear more threatening than she _ever_ could. I'm _fine._

Except: I know that, deep down inside, I'm _not_ fine. That girl publically humiliated me, and now she is going to pay for it in blood. She may be laughing now, but she won't be as I dig my sword deep into her throat.

I'm not sure what will be my biggest victory: winning the Games overall, or being her assassin. I suppose it would _definitely_ have to be the latter, because the former is certain. I'm not going to die, and anyone - and I mean _anyone_ \- who tries to make themself believe otherwise is an absolute idiot for doing so.

Even my allies know that I'm going to be the one coming home. I mean, I've told them enough times. Of course, Tiara can be adamant that she will survive but I _know_ that I won't die, so she must be wrong about herself.

Suddenly, I come to the realisation that I'm still standing still in front of the doorway. Thank goodness that the doors automatically closed behind me, or else the other tributes would all think of me as a laughing stock.

Not wishing to waste any more time, I go straight towards the swords station. I decapitate a couple of dummies, slash a few stomachs, but then I decide to move on to the spears station after that. It's hard to show off any sort of immence skill with a sword since you can't exactly throw them, but I can show off with both the ordinary spears and the javelins at that station.

After spearing a couple up close, I look up at the gamemakers. They don't look overly impressed with me, and rage burns up inside. I _know_ that it is time to move on to javelins for sure now, because they're long-distance. It shows that I'm not just some cocky shit who actually just has limited skills: it shows that I'm something truly special, a once in a generation kind of guy.

I pick one up - I chose it for its particularly sharp silver head - and I get ready to throw. Then, the target starts to move towards me and I smirk. _Now I can show them what I'm really made of..._

I wait a few moments to readjust to a moving target, and then I throw. It hits the centre, and I look up at the gamemakers again. This time around they look impressed.

I know I should probably do more, but so far, everything I have presented them with has been flawless, and I don't want to ruin that, so I just leave the station, bow for them, and exit the very second they give the cue for me to do so.

Call me conceited, but I'm feeling quietly confident about my score and beating Petra.

* * *

 _Tech Thohatdtospeeelle, 13, Third Male (District 3)_

Without a trace of any uncertainty, I make my way over to the electrics zone. I have the chance to make whatever I like without anybody interrupting me, and I'm intending on making full use of the golden opportunity.

In my eager rush, however, I forget to properly look where I am stepping and I trip over a stray sword. My nose makes contact with the floor and it really, really hurts - it's painful enough to make tears well in my eyes.

But I try not to let it distract me, because I have a once in a lifetime opportunity here. No - I just take a conveniently placed tissue from my pocket (you know what they say: preparation is vital in order to emerge successful in whatever you do), and I hold it tightly over my bloody nose. I can fix that later, but my machine is essential _now._

I'll never get the chance to do anything like this ever again, so I want to make the most of it whilst it's here.

I find some sheets of steel and some screws and I lay them out to my left for when I make a case to protect my creation, and then I grab the circuit board and some wire and start attatching it all. In my excitement, I forget to keep one hand holding the tissue to my nose, so it falls and blood starts to stream down my face but again, I try not to let it phase me. I have limited time in here but there is plenty of opportunity to patch me up physically. My mentor won't care - Arya doesn't care about either Pixey or I in the slightest, and Adnee may have tried to get Pixey some sponsors because of her alliance but both he and Coguell have given up on me too for some reason.

I say 'for some reason' because I'm really not sure why. I'm intelligent and I find myself rather charismatic, so surely I'm the dream tribute to mentor! But none of my district's victors can see that, so I'm on my own. I'll have to become self-sufficient, and I can help myself by making sure the Capitol are in awe of my creations.

It's like a puzzle, and in next to no time I have a functioning - albeit slightly bloody - machine. I hug it before standing and holding it in mid-air for the gamemakers to see. My grin is wide and toothy, and I radiate my pride.

Unsure of whether or not we are allowed to take things back, I decide to make an executive decision and run out of the room with it in my hands. They'll never be able to run fast enough to catch me, even if it isn't a permitted choice of action.

* * *

 _Monique Zale, 18, First Female (District 4)_

Passing the electrics zone, I crinkle up my nose. There's blood on the floor, and if it was almost anywhere else I would put it down to there being a fight that ended badly. At this particular station, though, I can't imagine that's what happened.

Besides, the boy before me was that obsessed freak from District 3, and I can't imagine him fighting in his session. Maybe he managed to cut himself on a sheet of metal or something. I wouldn't go so far as to put it past him.

I just shake my head and move on to the station I want to be at: archery. The bow is slightly moist when I pick it up, and that means that several sweaty tributes have already used it. It also means that I'll have to show an awful lot more finesse than I was intending on having to show, because I can't imagine anything worse than being cast off as just another tribute who messes around with a bow and some arrows.

I'd never get any sponsors if that happened.

Rather than taking an individual arrow, I go around the back of the station and collect a quiver to put several in. I indend on showing them just how talented I really am.

The arrows I choose are silver and shiny, and I take just one at first so I can build up to my showstopper. I fire just as the target beings to move, which takes me aback but my arrow hits it within what seems like milliseconds so it still hits the fatal zone I was aiming for. It's an immense relief.

Wanting to prove that I can shoot perfectly, I aim again and hit the centre of the circle. It makes me feel much more satisfied, and from the corner of my eye I can see a few gamemakers nodding silently. But I still need to prove myself fully, and I know exactly how to do it.

Taking three arrows from the quiver at once, I load them all, take a deep breath, and shoot. They all hit the target and I feel happy - but then I walk up to collect the arrows and I realise that one of them just narrowly missed the fatal zone. It infuriates me, but I try not to let it show. Who knows? Maybe they won't have noticed my failure, and if I act natural then they'll have no need to check.

Rather than continuing with the archery, I decide to show off another skill or two just in case. I'm not as good with a broadsword as I am with a bow, but it'll do.

I slash a few dummies' stomachs, and stab a few in their chests before I realise how boring it must look so I move on. It's a risk, but I hope they see me as 'multi-talented' rather than 'indecisive'. I also hope that they don't notice that I'm avoiding the survival stations, because I'm truly useless at all of those. I tried them out a few times back in District 4 but I quickly moved back to using weaponry alone.

Mason, Tiara, Rhoena, and Glair haven't noticed and they're fairly intelligent, so I have no reason to suspect that the notoriously ignorant people in the Capitol will either.

I take a dagger and call over a trainer. We fight one another for what must be several minutes, and eventually I come out as the victor of the match - just like how I'm going to come out as victor of the Hunger Games very, very soon. I throw the dagger into a nearby dummy's decapitated 'corpse' before bowing and being dismissed.

Hopefully they all see my talents and reward me with a suitably high score, but that's not certain by any means. All I can do now is pray for the best.

* * *

 _Percy Diggory, 12, Third Male (District 5)_

I make my way to the camouflage station, fully aware that most things have probably already been demonstrated to the gamemakers. This is clearly going to be an unfavourable station, mostly due to its inherent near-impossibility for most people, but I seem to be okay at it. I look quite tree-like, and I know that Mommy and Daddy would be more than proud of my effort. _I_ am rather proud of myself too.

I giggle - this whole evaluation thing isn't so bad after all. They warned me about faltering under the stress of it all but I'm just here thinking, _What stress? I don't feel stressed!_

I'm actually finding this session rather peaceful. None of the other tributes are able to judge me so I'm not at risk of them exploiting the weaknesses I display right now, and everyone knows that training scores are rarely indicative of final placements. People with 10s and above never seem to win, but people with 9s or 6s do - and frequently. A few years ago someone with a 4 won, so I know that whatever I get I would be daft to write myself off.

Anybody is capable of winning the Hunger Games if they have enough willpower - it's not _just_ about strength. In fact, it has been scientifically proven that those who want to live are more likely to live than those who are indifferent. Me? I _want_ to live, so there's a decent chance that I _will_ live.

After completing painting my arm, I move on to identifying plants. The test is on a computer screen and so there really is no margin for error. It's hardly like I can pretend that the high-tech machine is lying, because nobody would believe me. When everything is took back to the basic facts I'm just a twelve-year-old district boy who is marginally taller than average, but the people who designed this are much older and wiser.

I start tapping away but the 'paint' has turned into a kind of plaster cast on my arm, so I just use my left hand to select the pictures. Once I'm finished, I'm left grinning. 93% is amazing, and it shows a real talent.

When the time comes for me to leave, I leave with a smile. I've shown them some good stuff, and I'm happy with myself because of it.

* * *

 _Leone Strauss, 16, Second Male (District 6)_

I don't want to be here. This is possibly the most awkward I have felt in years, and it's mostly because I'm not sure how to feel about it all. I don't want to pick up a weapon, but I have to for my ally's sake. Maybe I do deserve to die, but Rowan doesn't. The boy's too sweet and innocent to hurt a fly even, and I don't want for him to die.

That's one of the things which is scaring me most right now. I'm scared that my killing addiction will result in the death of my ally, and I don't want for that in the slightest. I mean, I could come out and tell Rowan about my killing addiction, but I don't want to scare him away. He's sweet and he's keeping me grounded. I'm not as desperate to kill when he's around for some reason - it's like when I'm around my little sister, Lila. I feel protective rather than homicidal.

I suppose Rowan and Lila are alike in several ways. Both of them have to live without their parents. Lila and I have a mother who abandoned us and a dead father, and Rowan has two dead parents. He was telling me about what happended when we were in the waiting room. He was telling me about how his parents were murdered with a knife containing only the fingerprints of his mother and himself, and it made me sad because I've put people in situations like that before. Someone like me probably killed Rowan's parents, and I can't help but feel guilty over their deaths even though it wasn't me personally who ended their lives.

It does make me curious as to how the killer left no evidence though. District 12 never struck me as the kind of place to be able to afford disposable gloves and stuff, so they must have gone about it some other way. I wish I could meet the killer and discuss it with them an-

 _Stop it, Leone!_ I cry out inside, the silent words ringing so loud they give me a headache. A tear rolls down my cheek - I'm such a mess it's unbelievable. I have to control myself, though. I need to focus on here and now - _not_ the future, and certainly not several years ago!

I realise that I'm just standing here aimlessly, so I ask for a trainer to battle with. It's about all I'm good at, and I know that the trainer can defend themself. I won't be able to kill them, so that's a relief. It doesn't scare me too much when I pick up a pocket knife, because I know they will survive.

That's when they send her over - _her_ being a girl in a pristine white dress, holding a note scrawled on a piece of paper. I take it from her and read it: _They ran out of trainers; they sent me instead - sorry._

I look from the paper to her, from her to the paper, and I gulp. I know exactly what the gamemakers want for me to do. They want me to kill her... and I'm going to have to do it.

She stands still, looking so innocent it's practically unbearable. She can't be much older than I am - she's nineteen years old _maximum._ But it's not a thing I'm going to back out of, and it's for my ally's sake. He deserves to survive, and I'm going to get him the sponsors to do so.

I close my eyes as the blade first makes contact with her body. I don't want to drag this out, but I have to. I mean, of _course_ I want to drag it out and see all of her pain, but I hate that part of me. Annoyingly, that's the part of me who has to come to the forefront right now. _I have to let the monster in me out._

I dig the knife deep into her arm and drag it all the way up, avoiding her major artery. Her eyes are begging me to stop but I just laugh, and within seconds it becomes manic. The more I laugh, the more I feel my homicidal desperation. The more I laugh, the further the knife digs into her shoulder. Her mouth opens to scream but without a tongue, her mouth is just wide open. It gives me an opportunity, and I quickly pull the knife out of her and put it into her mouth. I drag it along the inside of her cheek before slitting right through and doing the same to the other side of her face.

She was quite pretty, but now her face is just two drooping pieces of skin. For good measure, I slit both sides of her nose too. I suppose such tiny things are not going to raise my training score but my goodness', it's the most exhilerating thing in the entire of Panem. Nothing at all compares to cruel, brutal murder, and mutilation is by _far_ the most fun way to end a life.

I should know, seeing as I've killed with so many different methods.

Tears stream down her face, turning a faded shade of red when they mix with all the blood. My shoes and legs are covered in the red stuff, but I love how it feels. Maybe they should make a new body wash which contains the blood of avoxes, because I would use it for sure.

Sensing her distress, I call out for a sword. Another avox brings me one, and he shakes his head angrily. I just smirk and say, "Watch out, or it'll be you next." It makes him run from me as fast as he can, and I drag the flailing female avox in my arms roughtly across to the camoflage station. I sweep all the paints on to the floor with my free arm, and I throw her on to the table.

Now I'm a surgeon, and I'm about to deliberately fuck up some major surgery. I slash the sword across her stomach, dyeing the now-torn fabric a truly _beautiful_ crimson. The wood becomes badly stained, and I know that I've left my mark permanently now.

By this point, even some of the gamemakers look alarmed so I just smirk at my victim, wish her good luck in Hell, and dig the point of the sword deep into her throat. Knowing that she won't have been given any painkillers, I make sure to twist the sword.

The sound of the wood on the table beneath getting carved away at is a wonderful sound, but its splendor could never compare to her body flailing on the table until it finally stops and becomes a corpse.

It all feels satisfying, but then I look down and realise just exactly what I've done. _No, not again, Leone!_ I cry inside, and I struggle to prevent myself from crying on the outside too. This is exactly the person who I do not want to be, and yet it is the person I am.

It is the _only_ person I am. All my goodness could never conceal my homicidal tendencies forever, and the sooner I grow to accept them, the better.

The only issue is: I don't want to accept them. I want to be a normal human - I do, _I do!_ But it's just not possible, no matter how hard I try, and I hate myself so much for it, I really do. The world will truly be a better place once I'm dead.

I just drop the sword on the hard floor, mutter a pained yet almost inaudible, "I'm so sorry," and storm out of the room without even waiting to be dismissed. What right did I have to end her life like that? None. I had absolutely _no_ right to do that to another human being, and yet I did.

Rowan's not safe with me as an ally, and that means only one thing: when we're in the arena, I'm going to have to let him go. But before we even get to the arena, I need to shower off all this blood. I can't deal with it being on me.

* * *

 _Asher Elm, 13, Third Male (District 7)_

I run into the room, keen to show my speed and my stamina. The first station I go to is the poisons one, and I set about collecting the ingredients for a basic poison.

There are some castor beans on the counter, and I try to look for pre-cooked - or even just pre-soaked - ones, but there are none to be seen so I sigh and begin to soak a few in the hope that it'll be ready in time for me in the end, though I think that's just hopeful optimism.

Some people would get horribly panicky over not getting enough time to make the poison from scratch, but I don't let it worry me. I just go over to the daggers, and I find a dummy there that isn't already ruined by the tributes before me.

I take a deep breath and force the blade into the dummy's torso. Nodding to myself, I stab all of the other fatal zones I know. It's to show off my knowledge rather than to look impressive, but it'd be nice if I looked fierce too. I want a decent training score, after all, and being boring is highly unlikely to get that.

I spy another dummy, and I take a slightly bigger dagger. It looks slightly more flashy, and that can't do me any harm whatsoever.

I drag it along its belly, slashing its stomach. I do the same to its throat and wrists. Of course, I could _never_ do anything like this to an actual human being, no matter what wrongs they had done or where we were, but I don't need the gamemakers to know that. They're judging me on my skill and competence with the little weapon - not my willingness to use it in reality.

Satisfied with my performance with the daggers, I jog back to the poisons station. The beans are still soaking, so there's no chance I'll have the time. Instead, I smirk and make my way towards the gamemakers' zone.

"Ricin," I begin, "is a very deadly poison, but its production takes time. By that, I mean far more time than I have in here, so you'll have to excuse me." I take a few steps nearer, and raise my voice a little louder. "You see what I was doing there? I was soaking the castor beans. They have to be soaked and cooked and there's really no time for any of that right now. If, however, they were pre-soaked and pre-cooked, I could have made you the poison. You have to mash them then, you see, and filter them. That takes time too..."

I continue until I've explained the entire method, and a few of them are nodding. Though I have not shown them the poison, I have demonstrated good knowledge of its production. Hopefully it will be enough.

I do a couple of laps of the training centre just to remind them of my speed, and then I bow. Upon, "You may go now," I thank them and leave. I'm happy with how that went today, I think I did myself proud.

Of course, I could be entirely wrong still. The only proof is in the training scores.

* * *

 _Velvet Lea, 17, First Female (District 8)_

 _You'll be fine, Velvet,_ I think as I come in. _Your make-up is immaculate today, there's nothing to worry about._ It's true, but I can't help but worry. _What if the men are all gay?_ I mean, I wouldn't mind that so much if I thought that there would be many female gamemakers. But there aren't, and it'd be just my typical luck if they were all into men alone.

 _Stop worrying, Velvet,_ I remind myself. _You're fucking gorgeous - there's no way that_ none _of them would be into you. There'll be at least one._

I readjust my top so that my cleavage is clearly on show, and I walk over to the area in front of the platform. "Hey," I say, twirling my hair round my finger. "I'm Velvet."

I glance at each of the gamemakers and see two or three who look totally captivated, so I decide to focus my pitch on those ones in particular. "So... I guess you know all about me already, but I don't know very much about you guys at all. Why don't you guys tell me a little about yourselves? I'm sure you're all very, _very_ interesting..." I say, before biting my bottom lip. My plan makes me feel nervous and vulnerable, but it's the only plan I have.

They begin to talk over themselves, and I force a giggle. "Actually, you know what? How about I just come up there and talk to you in person? This room's chilly and I don't like it very much, in all honesty. I'd rather be in the company of you lovely people..."

They have a small discussion which lasts nearly a minute in all, but the general concensus is that I'm safe to let up. An avox takes me around to the door to their area, and she unlocks it. She shakes her head at me, clearly aware of my plan, but I just smile. "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, sweetie!" I say under my breath slightly, but she clearly thinks I'm taunting her. "Look, you tell me you wouldn't do the same in my situation," I whisper, and she throws me a sympathetic smile. "Well, um... wish me luck!" I say with a slight chuckle as I walk up the staircase.

I walk to the centre of the room, brushing my hands across their shoulders as I go. I'm not sure why I do it, but the nasty, old men seem to like it anyway. They're not the focus of my attention, though. The others are.

"So, um... how about your lives? Anything... _interesting?"_ In turn, they start to go into long explanations about their whole existances, but they're not giving me any important information. I sigh, and just ask: "How old are you all? I'm seventeen."

Again, they say their ages (though one wrinkly man is clearly lying when he proclaims to be thirty), and I pay keen attention to the three. I want to keep this as un-awkward as possible for myself, since the head-gamemaker is clearly not interested in my body. One of them is thirty-eight, and the way he licks his lips scares me slightly. Another is fifty-one, therefore he's obviously had a lot of cosmetic surgery to look as young as he does. Neither of them are particularly nice options.

Then there's the final one. At age twenty-three and quite physically attractive, I decide he's my best bet. I walk over to him and sit on the table next to him. "Hey," I say, grinning slightly. I'm aware that I'm probably radiating awkwardness rather than fabulousness at this moment, but I honestly couldn't care less. As long as I get a good score out of it, I'm fine.

I sit there, waiting for him to make a move, but he doesn't so I give in and put the facts out there straight. "Basically, I want an eight," I say, addressing them all. "And I'm not sure how to achieve it. So, I was wondering if any of you could maybe give me a little... _guidance_ regarding the means to that score..." I say, flipping my hair as I finish.

 _"Guidance?"_ the young guy asks, and I smirk. _Keep going, Velvet, it'll all be worth it when you get that score..._

"Yeah! Like... well, I don't know, _anything,_ really!"

" _Anything?"_ he asks, a wicked smile forming on his face.

"Yeah. Like I said, any advice at all would be nice. I honestly don't care what it is." _Lies, lies, lies..._

"Well... in that case..." he says, getting up and cupping my face in his hands. "You mean like this?"

He brings his mouth to mine and he's such a bad kisser I want to grimace but I can't, so I kiss him back. Another gamemaker cheers, and I hear someone say, "Well, Ricardus is getting laid," so I pull back slightly, feeling slightly worried.

"Is that... _all_ you need me to do?" I ask, feeling sick to my stomach with myself. It didn't occur to me that they might want _more_ than just a make-out session.

I suppose this is how the prostitutes who hang around in the south of the district feel as they meet a client. I always thought of myself as morally superior to all of them, but today I'm proving even myself wrong.

"Not exactly," he says, and I gulp. _It's far too late to turn back now, Velvet._ He turns to the other gamemakers and says, "Put her down for that eight, she's going to prove her worth now."

I nod slowly, trying to look a lot less scared than I am. He grabs my hand roughly and I want to scream for help but I know I can't. I regret ever coming up with this plan, I do. This is going too far now, and I hate it. I _hate_ it.

But rather than run away, I smile and lean into him. What other choice do I have?

The thing that terrifies me most is when he says, "Come on, poppet. We're going back to my apartment..."

* * *

 _Risetto Thorsten, 18, First Male (District 9)_

As I walk into the room, I see a smirking gamemaker walk into their chamber too. "How was she?"

"Fucking amazing. Possibly the best I've ever had," he says, grinning. "But... she took a while to get going, so I think appropriate punishment would be knocking her score down just a tiny bit, don't you think?"

I stop in my tracks. He had sex with a _tribute?_ It makes me shudder, because it doesn't sound like she was all too willing. I know what it's like to be forced into doing it - my parents sold me a lot, after all - and I can't imagine how desperate that girl must have been to do that. Maybe she had no skills other than her body, because even I would never sleep with a Capitol person. They're even worse than my clients back in District 9, I've heard.

No, I intend on limiting physical contact to the dummies today. Talking of dummies... I find one and drag it to the sparring mat. My fists collide with just a few times before somebody calls, "Stop!"

I wonder what the issue is but then I see what they're doing. An avox is walking over to me. "When he is unconscious, then you have proved your skill," the gamemaker says in his horrible, clipped accent, and I nod. If that's what it takes to get a good score then I'm more than willing.

I make sure to hit his jaw first of all, because I know it'll leave a nasty bruise. I do a few more precise punches, but then rage overcomes me. How _dare_ a gamemaker use a tribute like that? These people in the Capitol are _exactly_ like my parents, and I hate them. I _hate_ them.

I want the gamemakers to die alongside my parents. If I'm victor, the second part of that should be easy enough.

When the avox drops to the floor, I keep punching... and punching... and punching, and when I finally stop I see that his face is an unrecognisable, bloody mess. Maybe it should make me happy, but it just makes me feel cruel and inhumane. I doubt the avox did anything that bad - he's only young, after all. It's not fair of me to take out all my hate on him.

Instead, I make my way to the hammers and I start to bash a dummy over its head over... and over... and over again. When I'm done with it, it is an indented mess but at least it's not another human. Attacking the avox that much was entirely unnecessary.

I just stand there a while, waiting to be dismissed but they're just talking among themselves now. I roll my eyes - typical, really, that they couldn't care less about an outer-district tribute like me.

There's not an ounce of me which wants to stay when I storm out of the room.

* * *

 _Eucalyptus Realms, 12, Third Female (District 10)_

When I walk into the room, it's a relief. This is the last time I'll have to be in this place, thank goodness. _Just use daggers and poison, Euca. Daggers and poison, and then you're out of here for good._

The daggers seem slightly closer, so I go there first. Most of the dummies are damaged beyond being useful now, but I find a torso which is whole so I stab away at it. In a way, it helps me that it isn't a full dummy. It means I can differenciate it from a real person.

This is nothing like when my mother killed my father, because _this isn't real._

After a while, though, I run out of creative ways to stab a lone body part so I abandon the dagger and move on to the poison. As I go, I see dried blood on the camoflage table, and no camoflage equipment. There are irregular carvings on the table where the blood has pooled, and when I look to the floor I see a puddle of dried blood. My eyes widen and I run to the next station as fast as I can.

There's been a murder today, and it looks like it was brutal. I don't want to be anywhere near the crime scene if I can help it.

I've become quite skilled at brewing potions, and since my age makes me look incapable I decide to make an instantaneous one. If I kill an animal, then I will have proved myself as a capable assassin. I mean, I don't want to, but if I want to get a decent score then I'll have to do it.

I make a quick one that I know is really fatal, and I ask for something to use it one. One of the gamemakers gestures to an avox and I nod until I realise that there is no animal in his arms.

"No..." I choke. "An animal, please, I beg you!"

"Look, sweetie, do you want a high score?"

"Well, yes, bu-"

" _THEN DO IT!"_ the gamemaker screams, and I pour the liquid into a beaker, bringing it to his lips.

I hesitate. "Are you sure you have no monkeys?"

" _DO IT!"_ he screams, and in my fright I just do as he says. The liquid trickles into the avox's open mouth.

What happens next will scar me for the rest of my existence. The avox begins to shake vigorously, and he looks in pain. It lasts for several minutes, and I can barely watch it happen.

When he drops to the floor, I stop breathing too for a moment. _I just killed a man. I just killed a man. I just killed a man. I just killed a man._

I just killed a man and now I'm as bad as my mother. Worse, maybe, because of my tender age. I've always been the innocent one, the good one, the kind one. But now I'm a murderer.

 _A murderer._ The words sting my very soul, like they're stabbing me again and again. _You're a murderer now, Euca, you killled him. You're a murderer, as bad as any other. You're just like that tribute who made a kill at the camoflage station, whoever they were..._

Shaking, I look down at the corpse. His glassy eyes stare up at me, and they're still full of terror - even in death. I don't want to see them - not now and not ever again. I can't take this - _I can't take this._

I run out of the room sobbing.

* * *

 _Orchid Myles, 17, First Female (District 11)_

Climbing is easy, so that's my first port of call. Most tributes prefer the standard frame, but I prefer the one that is designed like a real tree. It's more skillful, I think. Besides, I'm absolutely terrified right now, and the fake leaves can hide my face from sight while I compose myself.

It takes me at least three or so minutes to climb to the top, and when I finally reach it I find myself waving at the gamemakers, practically begging for their attention.

I'm higher up than they are, so I can see the shiny heads of some of the balding ones. It's an unusual sight, and it makes me chuckle because of how _ordinary_ the Capitol's citizens can look without their funny wigs.

I climb back down with quite good speed, my footing remaining particularly careful all the way until I'm at the ground. I come away uninjured, which is quite unusual for the tree design. Then again, I'm skinnier than most other tributes, so I can stay nearer to the trunk than they can with their chubby bellies.

Malnutrition has never before seemed such a blessing.

Then again, it would just be so _typical_ of me to have screwed up my footing regardless. I'm clumsy enough, after all. It was lucky of me to not do anything wrong this time.

My next place to go to is the plants station. It's just an onscreen test, so that's simple enough - right? Wrong. I manage to confuse several berry silhouettes, and my overall score is 31%. It's not even half, so that's not passable in the slightest. I won't accept such crappiness from myself, no way.

I hear a call of, "You may go now," from the gamemakers' area but I choose to ignore it. I need to redeem myself after that, to prove that I'm not some useless girl. I'm capable (well, -ish), and I want to show them that.

Though my crossbow skills need much left to be desired, they cannot be any worse than my last display at the plants was. No - I need to try, at least. Forgiving myself in death would be impossible if I didn't at least _try_ to survive.

I load the crossbow and I begin to fire it, but then I just quickly let it go and ignore my aim altogether in favour of running as far across the training room as possible. The target has blades on each 'hand' and it's moving forward at a rapid pace. I don't like it in the slightest.

The only sound coming from the gamemakers' area is laughter, and a lot of it too. It makes me angry, because how exactly was I supposed to know that it was going to move? It's not my fault I missed the target altogether because of it.

Annoyed, I storm out of the room. I guess that's what I should have just done the _first_ time they dismissed me.

* * *

 _Charity Cliff, 16, Second Female (District 12)_

Well, I guess this won't take very long at all. After all, I've gotten enough practice with it over the past few days, what with me repeatedly making fires. The wood is still dry when I reach it, and I take just a few minutes to ignite it.

In all honesty, I've become a bit of an expert on it. Not that it'll do me any good, of course. I don't intend on surviving the Bloodbath. This whole 'life' thing has gone on a little too long already, and I'll be much happier once it's over.

Is it possible to be happy in Hell? I'm not sure, but it can't be worse than on earth.

I just want to be dead already. I've waited sixteen whole years for me to reach a point where I'm comfortable in myself, and I've finally reached it. I've made peace with myself, and I can die without judgement. It's taken so long for me to finally get around to acting on this, and now I can let others do it for me.

It's perfect.

All my life, everybody has called it selfish when somebody ends their own life and it's put me off committing suicide. It's the fear of surviving that stopped me - _not_ the fear of dying. The fear of what might happen if it didn't work is what put me off all this time. I didn't want people judging me if I lived, because it would have made my life even more hellish than it was before.

For me, fear is always greater than hope.

I've been sitting here for quite a while now, the warmth from the flame actually being quite pleasant on my face. But it's useless, really. I'm still bored, and I'd rather be alone than in here with the gamemakers. Time passes faster in sleep, I've found. The day I'm awaiting will come faster if I'm sleeping the time away.

I blow out the fire and walk into the centre of the room. Nobody can mess with me now, I'm in control of my own future - no matter how near it may be to its end.

I raise my middle finger at the shocked men and exit the room. There's a certain power in my stride which feels foreign, but I like it. I've never liked anything about myself at all, and it feels _right._

Maybe, if I had a different father, I would be a completely different girl. Maybe I would love living life, and have loads of friends, and actually feel happy sometimes. But that's not the fate I got, so I'll never meet that version of myself.

It's just one more futile dream that didn't ever have a chance, not even before it was first dreamt.


	27. Score Reveal

_Gleam Rier, 29, Victor of the 364th Hunger Games (District 1)  
_

"Welcome, welcome," Venera Valentine begins, and I grimace. Everybody thinks she's gorgeous but I cannot for the life of me see why. Tallie is far prettier, and she's far more natural too. "This year is a special year - a Quarter Quell, even. I'm sure you're all as impatient to find out what our tributes have achieved as Midas and I are, so I'll not mess about. Without further ado, here are the scores!"

Across from me, Tiara fidgets nervously. She's fully aware that she's going to be first, and that she'll need a really high score to equal what her allies will undoubtedly manage to achieve. I don't blame her in the slightest for feeling scared right now, because it's an important moment for her. As Tiara's mentor, Tallie is almost as nervous as the girl herself. I know she has grown quite fond of her, far fonder than most mentors grow to theirs, and she would be sorry to see her die.

She's holding her breath as she waits for Venera to make the announcement, and so I put my hand on hers to comfort her. Though it's an innocent act, it makes her uncle and Italia glare angrily. In all honesty, I can't say that I see what their issue is. I mean, we're both adults, we're similar, we've both lived through the Games... there's no issue that I can see.

Anyway, back to the programme. After a short conversation (so much for 'without further ado'), Venera finally gets around to the scores themselves. "Tiara Holden of District One, with... a ten!" Relief floods on to Tiara's face and Tallie lets herself relax a little. It's good for her too, because a score in double figures makes it easier to get sponsors."Congratulations, Tiara, on that amazing score!"

"Yes, Tiara, congratulations," I say, smiling at the girl. If Tallie is happy then so am I, so I'm truly glad about her achievement. Tiara just nods curtly - a Career response to praise. She's District 1 through and through.

Everybody goes silent and we all turn our attention back to the screen. "Also from District 1, Lyndon Meyers with... an eight! It's an eight, Lyndon, congratulations!" But despite the fact that an 8 is perfectly acceptable for a Career of her age, Lyndon scowls. Obviously she was expecting higher than that, but she clearly didn't show them enough to achieve it. She's only got herself to blame for her dissatisfaction with her perfectly fine score.

Of course, Italia will be very, very pissed off that Tallie's tribute score two points higher than hers did. She's had it in for Lyndon from the start, ever since she learned that she was transgender. It's not fair of her to be so hateful to her because of it, and I suppose it would be wise to keep the two separated tonight to avoid any major conflicts.

It's wrong of her, but when has Italia ever played fair? There's nothing much the rest of us can do about it, because Italia has always gotten her own way with everything. She's been a perfect victor to the Capitol, and they love her far more than they love the rest of us.

I tell my girlfriend that we'll have to keep a close eye on Lyndon's whereabouts tonight, and then I hear Pandora's excited voice. Opal's got an 8 too, which is absolutely amazing for her age group. She's clearly as pleased as her mentor is too, because she's smiling and hugging Pandora now. "I'm going to do you proud," she says, and it's a sweet moment.

Well, I think it's sweet. Tallie just whispers in my ear, "Pandora had better be making her go for the adorable angle, because she'd be getting a lot of sponsors of she did." I roll my eyes.

"It's okay to momentarily forget about money, you know?" I mutter, but she doesn't reply. It seems it's _not_ okay to ever value sentiment over monetary worth.

For Platinum, it's a nine. I groan - I know fully well what tonight's topic for debate is going to be if Tallie gets a say in the matter... yet again. I think we're all tired of hearing her hate on that boy now - even her own uncle is bored of it! Luckily, Charming manages to equal it. "Good job," I say, and he reacts just as typically as Tiara did.

Regardless, I know that I've got myself a good tribute this year. Yes, he's a bit of a man-whore, it seems, but I know fully well that he's also an excellent fighter. I know which of those two attributes will take him further in the arena, and it's not the man-whore one. The Capitol would be wrong to count him out.

Come Peridott's turn, we all wait with baited breath again. I've heard that he's been practicing with darts and javelins, but I also know that the gamemakers sometimes look at reaped tributes in a less than favourable manor. All of our doubts are washed away when it is revealed that he managed to score a seven, though, and it's a pleasant feeling to know that all six of our tributes scored highly.

It makes me genuinely think that District 1 stands a chance this year.

* * *

 _Selaphine Hallow, 19, Victor of the 371st Hunger Games (District 2)  
_

"Did you hear that, Arminta? They just finished District One, so you're going to have to shut up a bit and behave now," Aella sighs. I completely get where she's coming from: that tribute of hers is just an absolute pain.

At pretty much that exact moment, the reading begins. "Representing District Two we have Petra Silverwood, who has scored... a ten!"

A chorus of, "Well done!" and, "That's really good, Petra!" begins in the room, but Petra herself just pouts.

"I wanted an eleven..." she mutters so quietly that I'm certain only I can hear, and even then it's only because I'm right beside her. It would ruin her unfaltering image if the other tributes saw her feeling disheartened, so I pretend to also be oblivious to her upset.

"Ellia Reyner has achieved... a nine!" Venera exclaims, and a shadow of a smile creeps on to my tribute's face. She's going to be absolutely fine for now.

"Ooh, how do you think her father will feel about that?" Midas interjects, and I automatically turn to Ares. He's scowling, and that's never good.

"I think he should be very pleased with her indeed - a 9 is a very good score, especially for a sixteen-year-old." _Yes, Ares, your daughter is still only sixteen. Remember that when you get angry about her scoring lower than Petra, please._ He can't hear what's inside my head, but hopefully someone godly can. I don't want her life to get harder than it is, what with all the pressure he puts on her to succeed. It's too much for any girl her age to handle, no matter one as emotionally fragile as Elle is.

She moves on, obviously keen to avoid any more little comments from her 'friend' (everybody knows that she and Midas are sleeping together, so I'm not sure why they're still pretending they're not a couple. After all, the Capitol would _love_ it if the faces of the Games got together publically). "Arminta Massina, again District Two, with... a nine! Wow, she must have done something _really_ impressive in her session! I wonder what it is..."

"Yes, well you know that the gamemakers are sworn to secrecy, Nery." _Nery._ How utterly sickening.

"Indeed. Well, moving on, we have Mason Slate. Mason has scored a- oh, my! Midas, we have an eleven! Congratulations, Mason. You've done yourself proud." Mason is smirking now, and Petra is avoiding his gaze. In all honesty, I'm not sure that I feel particularly comforable with the extent of their rivalry. It seems a little bit extreme to me, considering that they're from the same district.

"Well, at least _somebody_ did well," Ares says through gritted teeth, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's referring to his own daughter's 9 compared to the older, fiercer Mason's 11. I glare at him: he isn't fair on her at all.

Aenetta can tell this too, because she puts her hand on his shoulder and says, "Give her a break, Ares. You're just stressing her out." It seems to make him shut up a bit, so we can all turn out attention back to the screen.

"Glair Clermont... and a nine!" Mason nods at his ally, obviously giving his approval. A 9 is very good. "Finally from District Two, we have Invictus Nero, and he has scored... a nine also! Wow, District Two are on _fire_ this year - aren't they, Midas?"

"They certainly are," he says with a grin, before jokingly adding, "though not literally, thank goodness!" It gets a laugh from Elza, but us from District 2 are unaffected. Even as a close connection to the Capitol, their sense of humour still puzzles the most of us.

* * *

 _Adnee Romulus, 26, Victor of the 367th Hunger Games (District 3)  
_

Everybody is tense on our floor. Everybody, that is, except Tech. He came into the apartment with a bloody nose earlier and stupid Arya refused to deal with him even though he's her tribute, so Coguell is having to try the first aid she never bothered to learn whilst I watch the tributes and make sure they don't truant.

As anybody would be in her position, Coguell isn't impressed. Arya is trying to load all of her responsibilities on my girlfriend and I again, and I seriously disapprove of it. But what can I do? It's hardly like we were going to let the tribute get blood all over the floor any longer because Arya was deciding to be a crappy human being yet again, was it?

Pixel's up first, and she gets a 5. It's average, so I nod. "Nice job," I say, and she smiles. I'll have to remember the scores to tell Coguell when she returns. Therese is up next and I can't diguise my shock when they announce her 7. She just didn't seem like the kind of girl to score highly, but I know it'll make Coguell happy. She hasn't had much to work with in recent years. Talking of Coguell...

Tech stumbles into the room, bandages wrapped poorly around his head. It doesn't look like he's able to hear through that, but she clearly already knows how bad it is. "How have my girls done?" she asks, sitting down.

"Pixel got a five-"

"Okay, I can deal with that," she interrupts.

"-and Therese managed to pull a seven."

Her eyes widen in shock slightly, and she has to ask, " _Seven?"_

"That's what Venera said."

"Well..." She looks over at Therese and smiles. "You did good, Therese. Seven's amazing, it really is. Pixel, your five is pretty good too. I can work with it." It's funny how sweet she can sound at times, because she's nothing like that in reality. It's also pretty scary how realistic it is.

"Pixey Platt with... a two. Oh, dear. It looks like Pixey and her mentor have their work cut out!" Except, Pixey's mentor really couldn't care less. If she scored highly then maybe Coguell or I could have managed to score her some sponsors, but there's no way we can assist her with her 2. We've just got to face facts: Pixey is going to die.

Luckily, the girl herself looks unaffected. I guess she already knew that.

"Bug Huxley, again of District Three, has scored... a six," Venera says, sounding bored already. I can only imagine how it'll sound when she gets to District 12. "Dynamo Serkit with... an eight! What a marvellous score for someone of District Three!" _Well, he is allied with some formidible Career tributes,_ I think, though I say nothing aloud. My two tributes need not worry for a little while, their scores are good enough.

"Tech Thohatdtospeelle with... a low score indeed, wow! He has a one!" The boy looks unfazed but Coguell scoffs.

"He's dead, thank goodness," she mutters, and I gasp. He's a pain, but she should be more discrete about her dislike for him.

"You can't say that, Coguell."

She shrugs. "I can, Adnee, and I will." She gets up and walks over to him, says in her calmest and most innocent voice, "You're dead, you little shit," and walks out of the room.

"You've really annoyed her today," I say to Tech as I get up from where I am seated. My girlfriend needs to calm down, and leaving her alone to smash up whatever is in her way won't make anything better.

* * *

 _Clodagh Aster, 17, Victor of the 374th Hunger Games (District 4)  
_

I'm on edge as Venera reaches District 4. Just last year, I was in the position of these six tributes. Everybody keeps telling me to not get too attached to them but I can't help it. Three of them are on nickname terms now, and Laigh thoroughly disapproves. She thinks it'll make it harder for me when they die, but I don't want to think about that.

I really don't want them to die - not a single one of them, not deep down in my heart. I've tried to detach myself from them but it's too hard; it's too stressful for me. No, I just keep getting closer and closer to them all with each new day that comes around and it makes me hate this corrupt nation more and more.

Alas, the Games must go on. I may be the current victor, but my powers in Panem are limited. Stopping the ceremonies would be impossible, especially in a Quarter Quell year. How I wish I could do something to-

 _Stop it, Clodagh,_ I think. _Just accept it: they're going to be gone forever very soon, and you can do fuck all about it so just stop trying to save all six of them. There's only ever one victor..._

With a bit of luck, that could be one of them- could be _Seb,_ I remind myself. He is the one I put my faith in at first, and it's better for everyone if I focus on getting him alone out of there alive. Monique's got several victors backing her, as does Seb if I include myself, and Dar still has the one lot of promised sponsorship. Al, Kozuki, and Troye are goners, that's almost certain by now. They don't have the necessary support to succeed. I need to stop caring about them... but it's so difficult.

"Coming from District Four, there's Monique Zale with... a nine!" Hearing the voice on the screen makes me shudder. Last year, I was angry with the world, but this year I'm just plain petrified. This time, it's not my own life that I'm promising to save. It's someone else's, and the immense responsibility terrifies me.

It's weird how I was less fazed by my own probable death than I am now for these children- these _tributes._ Maybe it's because I probably deserved to die in my arena, and they don't. The only people who survive are cruel, bloodthirsty, and callous: it's both the reason why I survived and the reason why I doubt Seb will make it in the end, no matter how much effort I put into helping him. He's too nice for this - they all are, except maybe Monique and Troye.

"Kozuki Shamiko... proving she's a strong contender with another nine!" Venera says, slight enthusiasm in her voice now.

"Oh, District Four are on track for some amazing results, Venera, aren't they?"

"They are indeed, Midas. They are indeed..." I have to hold in a little gasp because I would have never expected such a good score from my tribute. In a way, it makes me feel even more guilty about leaving her on her own in there to die, because she could have turned out as something special if I was backing her like an outer-district mentor would be. Sadly, we're not outer-district: we're District 4, a bunch of ruthless Careers. We're supposed to be capable of making difficult decisions without that kind of hesitation or moral goodness.

Kozuki looks at me expectantly so I put on a faint smile. I still haven't told her that we're all willingly sacrificing her, so she has no idea about her certain death. It feels _wrong,_ even though I know that our approach is entirely logical. It brought me home, after all, so it's effective.

"Ally Johnson and... an eight!" Again, all I do is smile. I feel bad for all three of the tributes we've had to sacrifice from the start, but especially the two girls. Kozuki thinks she can trust in me, and Al's still so young, but we're letting them die. It's all so sick it makes me want to stop everything and just cry.

It's just a shame I couldn't see how twisted this all was a year ago. Surely that alone should mean that I'm worthy of death. In fact, I'd happily take one of their places if it saved them and gave me my well-deserved comeuppance.

"Troye Pacifica has scored... a seven. Wow, what a disappointment!" And indeed it would be, if he were District 1 or District 2. But he's not: we're all District 4, and we gave up on him a long time ago. Sebastian, however, we haven't abandoned, and he's next: "Sebastian Renier with... an eight! A marked improvement from his older counterpart!"

Though I'd hardly call getting one point higher a 'marked improvement', I'll take it if it gets Seb more sponsors. The 8 alone won't get much, unfortunately, but the way they're trying to market it could.

"Finally from District Four, we present the score for Darryn Allain, which is... a nine!"

"Oh, how fantastic!" Midas says through the screen, and I can't help but agree. For a fourteen-year-old, he stands a very good chance. _Thank goodness we didn't abandon him too,_ I think, and I gulp.

 _What if one of the tributes we've discounted could have become the victor with our help?_

* * *

 _Robert Alsen, 54, Victor of the 338th Hunger Games (District 5)  
_

Call me overly optimistic, but I'm feeling hopeful this year that, even if we don't have the overall victor, we will do well. For example, Delta has three allies from Career districts, two of whom were volunteers. I'd say she stands a good chance with the sponsors, at least.

When she gets an 8, everybody in the room is overjoyed. We haven't had a score so high in years, and it seems that Delta's connections to Career districts has helped. She'll get sponsor funds for sure.

Scin doesn't look as optimistic as she usually does, but her face lights up when she hears, "Scintillaea Ardor with... a six!" We're all sure to congratulate her, because that's a score we're able to work with. In the back of all of our minds, though, we know what is yet to come: Nomi. As sweet as she is, we all know she won't stand a chance in there. She's still in denial, even though Eliza tried to tell her that the Hunger Games are totally not a fake. She still thinks that she's going to come out and live her life how she wants, regardless of her placement.

How lovely it would be if that were true, but it isn't... and she's going to have to learn that the hard way.

She gets a 3, and it raises quite a few eyebrows. By no means whatsoever is it high, but it isn't the lowest so far by any means. It makes one wonder what she did in there whilst under the impression that it was all acting. Maybe she cut up a dummy or something, not associating it with ending a life. Whatever she did, it boosted her score from the 1 she deserves.

Yet still, Nomi is dissatisfied. She wanted a 7 or an 8, it seems, despite her tender age and her coming from District 5. It's still not gone into her brain that having one young, reaped District 1 tribute in her alliance is not equal to having older volunteers like Delta's alliance has.

By any definition, her naïvité could be described as being utterly astounding.

Stevie does quite well, scoring a 6. His stylist smirks, and I shudder. They're too close for my liking, and I think it's a dangerous position to be in. If Asrad suddenly decides he doesn't like Stevie anymore then that'll be all his sponsors gone, because Capitol citizens like Asrad have the upper hand in that sort of situation.

"Aestus Woodford and... a five!" Again, it's not too shabby, so I nod.

"That's good enough, Aestus," I say. It's about average, and that's what District 5 always strive for: average. Let's face it, we'll never get an 11 like that District 2 boy did this year.

Finally, we reach little Percy. Though we know he's going to die, us victors are hopeful that he'll at least equal Nomi's score. And he does: he brings in a 4. It's plenty satisfactory for someone his age, and it makes me smile slightly.

Nobody did bad this year, and we actually stand a chance for once.

* * *

 _Clara Donoghue, 29, Victor of the 363rd Hunger Games (District 6)  
_

"I still wish th-"

"For fuck's sake, Deliah. Karima left us, all thanks to stupid Sherman here," I say sarcastically as I roll my eyes, "and you pestering me is just getting annoying now. Sooner or later you'll make me lose my temper for real, and you don't want to be on the receiving end of my rage. You've seen my Games on recaps, I know you have, Deliah. So you should know that you don't want to end up like the last people who pissed me off. So shut the fuck up about her, okay?"

Of course, Deliah pays no attention to my warning. She just rolls her eyes and says, "Yeah, yeah," and it infuriates me. I'm playing escort to six mainly troublesome tributes as well as mentor to three of them, and it's stressing me out quite a lot. There's nothing I would like to do more than hit her around that smug little face of hers, but I have to reign in my rage because I'd get myself into a tonne of shit if I harmed a tribute - especially if I did it deliberately.

No, I just have to hope that she calms down... and that she does so quickly.

Venera and Midas keep flirting with one another and it's just stressing me out. The sooner they get on with the score reveal, the sooner I can force Deliah and Sherman to go to their rooms for a while. I don't want to be stuck with them for any longer than I need to be, and that means just meal times and important moments like finding out their scores.

Finally, Venera gets on to District 6 after a rather gross onscreen make-out session with her companion that makes more than just me gag, and that's on this floor alone. "This is stupid," Rhoena mutters and I can't help but agree. Their romance is all over the media, and yet they pretend they're not together. They're just irritating.

"Rhoena Lyter's earned... a nine! How fantastic!" And it _is_ fantastic, but I would have expected nothing less from her. She has strong allies and if they've all got 9s or above then I'm glad Rhoena does too.

Rhoena herself nods and says, "I'm happy with that," and she smiles slightly. Her alliance are certainly a formidable opponent for the other tributes.

"We're giving... a _six_ to Kiora Plessant!" Venera says, so bored that she is resorting to new word orders. Kiora looks satisfied with that, but I have no time to congratulate her. No, I have to brace myself for the next tribute: Deliah. If she feels her score is too low then she'll kick off again. I have to close my eyes as the announcement comes: "Deliah Saunders with... a six!"

 _A 6... that could go either way._ I brace myself for her potential outrage but it never comes. I open my eyes to her nodding, muttering, "That'll do..."

Sherman gets a 5 and I can almost feel my blood boil. The boy is ultimately to blame for the stress I'm under right now, and I would really rather like to see him pay for it. Of course, he seems to be able to read facial expressions and actions, so I make sure to keep a blank face. I wouldn't want to anger him like Leone seems to have managed to.

Talking of Leone... "...a ten!" The whole room gasps and we all congratulate him except from Sherman, who storms out and goes to his room. All that I can think is of how it is for the best that he is gone, because the conflict is practically torture at times.

I ask Leone what he did to earn the score, but he just looks to the ground and shakes his head. Maybe it's an embarassing moment for him - maybe he _accidentally_ hit a bullseye or something.

I guess I'll never find out the truth.

Malachi squirms slightly in his seat and I can tell that he is nervous. I smile at him as he looks in my direction and I nod. He's going to get a good enough score, I'm sure. Not amazing, but not the worst of all.

He gets a 4, and he seems happy enough. For his age, it's okay. They're all okay...

* * *

 _Amazonia Lyons, 42, Victor of the 350th Hunger Games (District 7)  
_

 _Some things never change,_ I think, as Samara walks into the room in overly glamorous attire. She doesn't need to leave the room tonight and there are no cameras in here, but still she manages to take so long to get dressed that she nearly misses the score reveal for District 7.

Don't get me wrong, she's the loveliest escort in the business, but she's also got the worst tardiness issue. Still... rather her than that Karima girl who ran away from District 6. I hear she's in big trouble with President Blain about abandoning her team. Personally, I think she might be executed. At minimum, they'll turn her into an avox...

I have not got the time to worry about other people right now, so I push everything about her from my mind. My duty is to these tributes, not to runaway escorts for districts which aren't even my own.

Lennon is first, and she gets a 6. She seems happy enough with it, and I'm happy too. It's not too low, but it's not high enough to put her in danger either. Honestly? I think she stands a chance.

Azalea only gets a 4, and I feel sorry for her. People with scores like that rarely come home. Giana, however, gets an 8, and as she smiles I see her older sister's face screw up in pain. I look down just in time to see Giana's foot quickly moving away from Azalea's face, and I glare at the younger girl. She may put on an innocent face, but she's far from innocent. I, for one, would not want her as an ally in the arena. She's the kind of girl who wouldn't hesitate to stab you in your sleep and blame it on another tribute, and that makes her unsafe to be around.

"Oliver Hawkins with... a seven!" Oliver smiles, clearly more than satisfied. And rightly so - a score that high has to truly be earned. "Trigg Yggdrasil with... also a seven!" Unlike Oliver, Trigg looks disappointed.

"I scored lower than Giana..." he mutters, and I roll my eyes. That boy is too competitive in the wrong ways - his motives should be purer than they are.

Finally, there's Asher. He gets a 6, which is more than adequate. Overall, we've got ourselves a decently skilled set of tributes this year, and it makes me happy. More than anything, though, I'm glad that I don't personally have to mentor Trigg and Giana.

Poor Allie, she's still got her work cut out.

* * *

 _Woven Mardell, 30, Victor of the 359th Hunger Games (District 8)  
_

Velvet is puzzling me this evening. First, she came back late from evaluation. Second, she immediately went to take a shower when she returned despite the fact that she usually takes them after dinner. Finally, she's been a lot quieter since her return. It unsettles me slightly, and makes me wonder what she did. I heard there was blood everywhere in that room by the end, but ahe hardly seems the kind of person to slay an avox.

"Moving on to District Eight, Velvet Lea. And she has scored... a seven! Congratulations, Velvet!" Except, Velvet doesn't look as happy with the score as anybody else would. Instead, she starts crying. Her face turns pale and she runs out of the room, and I follow. She's my tribute, and that makes her my responsibility. I'll just have to trust that escort to keep everything under control in the main room.

"Velvet?" I say softly as I push open her bedroom door. She's lying face down on her bed, and there's a wet patch on her pillow when she lifts her head to look at me.

"Woven," she chokes. "I- I-"

"Are you okay, Velvet?" I ask, sitting beside her on the bed and putting my arm on her shoulder when she sits up.

"No," she cries, roughly pulling me into a hug. There's definitely something wrong, because her usual eloquence and strong persona would forbid her from showing such emotion.

I sigh. "What happened?"

"I d- don't want to talk about it."

"Velvet, you need to. I'm your mentor, I'm meant to know your weaknesses and triggers. I can't help you survive if I don't."

"What if I don't want to survive anymore?" she sobs into my shoulder. My heart aches for her, because she's only seventeen. No teenage girl should be this upset over anything - it's just not fair.

"Velvet... what is it?"

She pulls away and shuffles to the other end of the bed. Trying to dry her waterfall-like eyes with her bare hand proves to be as useless as the idea sounds, and she soon gives up on trying. "They promised me an eight," she mutters under her breath, and it confuses me. I know it can't truly be over her score, because she was upset before.

"A seven is still very good, you know."

"No, it's- look, I know it is," she begins, her voice much clearer now, "but not for me. I wouldn't have done _any_ of that for a seven - not one bit of it! They took all my dignity and then they violated my trust!" She turns away from me, avoiding my gaze. _Took her dignity?_ "It's... look, I'll be fine. Let me be."

"You know I can't do that, Velvet. I'm not allowed, for starters, and I wouldn't want to even if I could. You're a mess, you need to sort yourself out. And I know for a fact that you won't do that on your own, so you may as well just talk to me. You'll feel a lot better if it's off your chest," I say, moving closer to her again. She needs company, and she's trying to isolate herself from the world. It's not healthy to be that alone - I of all people should know that!

"They- you know what? It really doesn't matter, okay? I came up with some silly plan, it backfired, and now the gamemakers are clearly punishing me. It's nothing I can't deal with," she says, straightening her back and flipping her hair half-heartedly. She's not okay, not by any means, but if she insists on pretending like she is then I'll have to let her do that... for now. I'll just have to have a conversation with her some other time before the arena.

I walk back into the main room just in time to hear the words, "Jake Hallywell with... a seven!" If I was my usual self, I would be congratulatory, but I'm not. How Velvet is right now is concerning me, and I just wish she would let me help her.

There's a tap on my shoulder and I have to turn to see who it is. It's Aemilla, obviously. "Brietta got a four," she begins and I nod, grateful to her that she thought to tell me. "Taylor got a six, Lee a four, and Thomas a three."

"We've done worse," I say, and she smiles.

"Well, the six and the sevens certainly aren't to be scoffed at, Woven," she reminds me, and I let myself smile back at her. It'd be nice to bring a tribute home this time, Victors' Village gets a little lonely when you're always the only one.

* * *

 _Ryeleighe Rawton, 37, Victor of the 356th Hunger Games (District 9)  
_

Quite a lot of tributes have gotten high scores this year, and it makes me all the more grateful that Adeline's not competing. It's funny how I once wanted to get rid of her so much that I was willing to lose my own life, but now I'm so protective over her. In all honesty, she deserves a far better mother than me. She's truly wonderful.

Despite all my happiness over my own daughter's safety, I can't help but feel pity for all the mothers and fathers whose children were reaped. I've vowed to help them as best as I can, but I can still only bring one of them home _if I'm lucky._ Most likely, they'll all die, and I'll have to see their grieving families as they stand there, crying, on the eventual victor's victory tour. I remember my own, and at the time it unsettled me slightly, knowing that I had violently ended the lives of their sons and daughters.

I'm glad to never have to go through that again, but every year a new child has to suffer like I did. How I wish they didn't have to... I mean, victory in itself is traumatic enough. You only have to look at the mess that poor girl Clodagh is now she's one of us to know how much it ruins a person.

Victory basically destroys your very soul, and most people never manage to get over the whole ordeal. I'm one of the luckier ones.

"Natalia Tressington with... a three!" Natalia screams, furious.

"How dare they?" she growls. "How _dare_ they? I'm fucking flawless, and my flirting game was on point."

Barley grimaces slightly, and I have to ask, "You _flirted_ with them?"

"Yeah, of course I did. I leant against that red potion-thingy table and called up to them about how sexy I am. Maybe I didn't shout loud enough."

The very idea of that girl seriously trying to flirt makes me want to throw up. She's honestly just a disgusting little wannabe slut, and I can't stand her. She thinks she's so superior to everybody else, and it's intolerable at times. She needs to stop taking us all for granted, because sometimes I wish I could just off her already. But then I remember that there are probably a grieving set of parents out there, and I force myself to try to help her for their sake. I could never manage to go back to District 9 and tell a mother or father that I didn't even try to save their son or daughter.

I couldn't live with myself if I did that.

"Radia Redix with... a four!"

"Well done, sis," Centra mutters to her, a smile on both of their faces. A 4 isn't amazing, but it could be much, much worse.

"Centra Redix with... a five!" Hearing her success, Centra squeals and wraps her arms firmly around Radia. It's very cute, but in a bittersweet way. At least one of those girls will die soon, and it's going to be heartbreaking to see the other one in mourning. They're practically inseparable.

Risetto is emotionless as Venera announces his 8. Shocking, considering how high it is. The sisters' scores were much lower than that and they were over the moon, but he's so... _detatched._ I find it slightly unsettling.

"Barley Maze with... a seven!" I don't even watch for Barley's reaction, still wary about Risetto. "Riley Redix with... a four!" Well, it'll do for a boy so young. The siblings have all got one another, and they're going to be one another's rocks in that arena for sure.

* * *

 _Grange Robeni, 24, Victor of the 368th Hunger Games (District 10)_

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite down hard on my bottom lip. Adam's a little too close to Alie for my liking, and having his arm around her is clearly making her wary too because she mouths 'save me' to me. He claims it is because of his nerves for his tributes, however, and to tell him to not hug people when scared would make the two of us seem cruel - even if we know of his ulterior motive.

Instead, I pretend I need help with something, and I call her over. It gives her an excuse to leave him alone without seeming mean, and it's a relief when he genuinely believes I've lost something in my bathroom. "You okay, Alie?" I ask.

"Yeah, yeah," she says. "It's just... as cruel as it seems, I wish he would just drop dead already! He creeps me out to the extent that I've had to put extra locks on all my doors and windows, and he's the reason I won't stay in a room alone when we're both in the Capitol - and that says a lot, doesn't it?" I wrap my arms around her, but rather than being tense like with Adam, she rests her head on my shoulder. "I wish life was simpler," she whispers.

"So do I..."

We're back in the main room in no time. Well, I put on a bow tie first so that I have something that I can say I was trying to find, but that's barely thirty seconds. It's stiff and it's uncomfortable, but it's a lot less uncomfortable than wondering where a creepy old pervert is going to try to make his hands roam next on my girlfriend's body. Pretty much _a_ _nything_ is better than seeing his delight at getting to make some kind of physical contact with her.

Natalie is up first, and she gets a 7. It's very good, but I can't help but feel for her still. She knows that she's probably never going to see her twins again, and it's horrible. I mean, I'm not a parent myself so I can't imagine what it's like to be torn away from your children like that, but I can imagine it must be absolutely terrifying.

"For Sylvie Ryder, it's... a four!" _Well, she's probably not coming home,_ I think. It's not a particularly nice thought, but it's one that you get used to having when you're a mentor whose tributes usually get low scores for training. Not a single tribute from District 10 has come home since my victory and it's a shame, especially considering our success up to then. We were starting to do well in the Hunger Games, but then... well, then it just all went wrong. There's not even a particular reason why.

"Eucalyptus Realms with... a five!"

"That's not so bad," I mutter, and Alie nods.

"Yeah, she could stand a chance in there. I would say the same for Natalie, but I think her children could make her a little... distracted, maybe."

"That's what I was worried about too, but I hope not. She's sweet," I confess, and she jokingly punches me on the arm. "Hey!"

"You're such a wimp, Grange," she laughs, and I'm glad to see her happy again. Unfortunately, it seems Adam is too, because he eagerly eyes her every movement. It makes me shudder, but I keep quiet because she hasn't noticed for once and I wouldn't want to scare her again without good reason.

Vernon gets a 1, and I can't say that I wasn't expecting it. The boy's far too vain and self-centred to ever make anything of himself. It's why I pay no attention to his protests as Venera announces it and Midas comments on how bad a score it is.

"Florian Cowbell has scored... a six! Well done, Florian!"

"Well done indeed," Alie says with a smile. "That's a good score, Florian." Florian beams from ear to ear, clearly happy with his score. When Hugo's 8 is announced, he's even more ecstatic - and rightly so. Scores like that have to truly be earned, so he must have been really impressive.

All in all, I'm quite pleased with our tributes' scores this year. Yes, there are some bad ones in the mix, but some of them could stand a chance...

* * *

 _Ivy Dawne, 30, Victor of the 358th Hunger Games (District 11)  
_

Fate is cruel, it really is. I can't help but pity Luka for the fact that his mentor has just had to be hospitalised, because I know that Chye won't be out in time to help him in the arena.

What infuriates me most is that Sorrel offered to take control of Luka but Blain refused it, and now look what happened! The president really is a stupid and cold-hearted man.

Right now, I could really use the support of my friend, but she's probably having enough trouble of her own down on the District 8 floor. Woven always does seem to be plagued with the troubled ones, after all.

Rather than letting the misfortune of Chye being taken ill get to me though, I try my best to focus on the reveal. As she talks, Venera sounds very, very bored indeed. Clearly, nobody explained to her that 72 is a higher number than 24, and that it means that she has to talk for longer.

Orchid gets a 5, and it's a cause for a brief celebration. The girl seems nice enough to make me actually want to back her, and the score she has earned is modest yet not hideously low. She could stand a chance if I play this right - she needn't die in the Bloodbath.

Scoria's score is a less than spectacular 3, and Astra's is a mere 4. Nevertheless, I congratulate them regardless of their shortcomings. They still had to work hard for their pitiful results and I don't want to be the one to put them both down about their presumably noble efforts.

Both of Sorrel's boys get 8s, and it leaves us all pleasantly surprised. For a moment, we can all genuinely forget about Chye and instead focus on their real achievements. Right now, if Castor's stylist doesn't fuck up again then he could actually stand a very good chance at winning this whole thing. Pepper has a decent chance too, it seems, and I smile at the two of them. Sorrel must be very proud. They deserve it, clearly, for the gamemakers to have actually given it out. They're harsh people nowadays, especially towards District 11.

Hearing of Luka's 2 upsets both Sorrel and I, but I push it from my mind. Luka may be essentially dead already, but Orchid isn't, and I'm going to do my damn best for her to keep it that way.

* * *

 _Eilam Holmes, 71, Victor of the 319th Hunger Games (District 12)_

Olive storms into my suite, her face angry. "Do you even care about your tributes?"

"Not particularly, why?"

"I thought as much. You know, those boys are depending on you, Eilam - they're _depending_ on _you,"_ she hisses, pointing at me accusingly. "Not me - _you._ So get your sorry arse out there, and go and congratulate them on their successes. They did pretty well, considering they have a mentor who couldn't give a flying fuck about their innocent lives."

"Lovely. What, do they want an award or something? 'Overachiever of the year' or something, hm?" I say sarcastically, infuriating Olive.

"No, Eilam. You- you're going to go out there and congratulate them on their successes, and you're going to bloody well pay attention to them and make them feel as though their mentor actually cares!" Her voice is raised now, her anger as comical as usual.

"You can't tell me what to do, Olive. You're not even a proper victor."

"Yes. Yes, I am," she protests.

"Ooh, getting all defensive are we? Stupid woman. Everybody knows how all you did in that arena was fall out of a bloody tree. You're getting on your high horse but you've never brought one of those tributes home yourself, so you can fuck off with your 'I'm so much better than you, Eilam' attitude. Just admit it: you're just a useless bitch, Olive. And a snobby one at that - no wonder nobody likes you!"

Tears form in her eyes and she turns to leave, but before she closes the door behind her, she says, "Amber got a six, Fiyero got a one, Rowan got a two, Agar and Persimmon both got fours, and Charity got a three. You can save them still, Eilam - remember that..."

Once she is gone, I laugh out loud. One of them got a _1._ There's no way that could _ever_ class as doing 'pretty well', and she's wrong to think that it could ever amount to anything. No, she's just being the typical woman she is: overly optimistic and insistent on nagging over ridiculous things. She's trying to play in a man's world, and I can't wait for the day when she realises quite how stupid she is for ever trying to make something of herself.


	28. Fourth Night

_Glair Clermont, 16, Second Male (District 2)_

I miss my best friend. I wish I could celebrate and share my success with her, but I can't. Then again, I suppose that Mara wouldn't want to celebrate even if she _was_ here. She's never really approved of my Hunger Games goals.

As strange as it seems, I miss my family too. The quarreling between Donnelly and Teana always used to seem annoying, but now it seems too quiet without it. My alliance are great, obviously, and I trust them with my life - but they're not the same as the people back home. I guess Mara and my family are always just going to be the special ones.

Lying down on my bed is making me sleepy, so I sit up. I must stay awake - I haven't even had dinner yet!

I stand up and walk over to the mirror, and I take a long look at myself. I'm short, I'm quite young... hardly victor material, so why did I even bother to volunteer? I _knew_ that I would probably die rather than win, and yet I entered myself into a death match regardless.

 _Why?_ I think to myself, and I can't come up with an answer. I throw myself back onto my bed, and I sigh. Maybe I should have just listened to Mara all those times she tried to discourage me from following dangerous dreams. For one, I'd be a heck of a lot safer right now if I did take her advice.

But then what's the point in living if you never take chances? It'd be terribly boring, really. There would be nothing to look forward to, nothing to look back on and laugh about... there would be no purpose at all to life! Me? I don't want to be the boring boy who does fuck all with his life - I want to be _somebody,_ and this is my best chance.

I guess _that_ is why I volunteered: to be without regrets. Because if I never took that chance, I would regret it my whole life. I would be a lost man, aching to know about the person I could have been. Maybe I'll become somebody special, or maybe I'll lose my life and fade into a forgotten nobody - but I'll have done my damn best, and that's all that really matters in the end.

All I need to do now is believe in myself, and then maybe this short boy could become the victor after all...

* * *

 _Amber Dawns, 18, First Female (District 12)_

Dinner is hardly a happy ordeal... in fact, I can't think of a single thing that has happened since my arrival in the supposedly _glorious_ Capitol that I would describe as being _happy._ It's just same old, boring Panem - a place where nothing interesting ever happens.

Personally, I'd rather be elsewhere. I mean, there's _got_ to be somewhere other than Panem out there. This place is too corrupt and twisted to be the last remainder of the previous world. Then again, I doubt I'd ever find out if there was some better area. President Blain's just an arsehole who wants to keep us all here so that he can make children die for entertainment, he'd _never_ let _anybody_ know if there was a possibility of escaping our fates - not even if it was just an off-chance!

I swirl my soup around my bowl with my spoon, not caring how it looks. "Don't you like the soup, Amber?" Olive asks, and I shrug.

"I don't give a fuck, to be honest. It is what it is, and I'm not hungry." My response earns a few gasps and tuts from people around the table, but most of my companions remain silent. They've gotten used to me by now, which I'm glad of. It saves me the hassle of telling them to piss off whenever they approach me, because they've learned to not approach me in the first place.

I push the bowl to the centre of the table and get up from my chair. I much prefer the solitude of my bedroom to the social environment that is the dining room. I also much prefer every single set of pyjamas in that closet than I do the overly soft t-shirt I'm dressed in at the moment. Even itchy satin is more comfortable than something that feels like what I imagine a cloud would feel like.

I change into a pair that are a hideous shade of pink, and I throw the day clothes into the corner, the screwed up pile looking rather out of place in the pristine room. Then again, I suppose it'll make an avox's day more interesting. The day has been exhaustingly plain, and I just need sleep.

Luckily, it comes in next to no time.

* * *

 _Rhoena Lyter, 18, First Female (District 6)_

The clock on my bedside table says it is 11:30pm - exactly ten minutes before the agreed time. Quietly, I slip out of my bed and put on a warm jacket over my thin nightgown. The shoes I wore to training are still sitting by my closet so I silently put them on too, double-knotting the laces just to be certain that they won't come undone.

I'm nervous as I walk through the apartment, scared that I'll awaken one of the others. Though I am silent, the elevator doors are not, and when I open them I turn back to the sleeping quarters by instinct. Again, nobody's slumber seems to have been disrupted, so I walk into the elevator and quickly close the doors. Once I'm inside, I'm safer. Though tributes aren't permitted to see tributes from other districts outside of training, victors are certainly allowed. Laigh of District 4 has visited Clara several times over the past few days. Hopefully, anybody who is awake will just think I'm one of them.

When I walk out onto the rooftop, the wind hits my face at full force, blowing my hair everywhere. I'll have to claim to having very bad bed head in the morning, I suppose. The darkness makes it hard for me to see anything, but I'm not too worried.

"Heard you got a nine," she calls, and I smile.

"Your ten's not too shabby either," I joke as I walk towards her. "No difficulty on your floor?"

"Nope!" she laughs. "You neither?"

"Obviously not, or else I'd be getting a telling off from Clara right now rather than be standing beside you. Honestly, Tiara, you're so silly sometimes!" I say, lightly punching her left arm. She nudges me back, laughing. That's when I remember that we're not here to mess about, so I put on my serious face. "What did you need to talk to me about that was so important it couldn't be said in daylight? Or even in front of the rest of the alliance?"

Tiara shuffles from foot to foot slightly, but I pretend I don't notice. She's nervous, and it makes me curious as to why. "Well, basically, I needed to talk to you about the alliance, Rho. We all know that, at some point, we're going to have to split. And we also know that it means that friend becomes enemy, and sometimes that can be lethal. So..."

"So what?" I ask, slightly frustrated at how she's rambling on. Anybody else would be straight to the point, but not Tiara. No, she always goes on... and on... and it's getting to the point where I can't even pass it off as endearing!

"In short, I'm going to need your help."

"Whatever for?"

"To take out Glair, obviously!" I gasp, a little shocked at how flippantly she says it, but I quickly purse my lips shut. I'm sure she will have thought this out thoroughly, she's probably just saying it like that because she's gotten so used to the plan. "Mason and Monique are a pair, quite inseparable, and they'll have each other's backs. Just like you and I - you'll look out for me in the arena, right?"

I nod, because I will. She's proven to be a good friend so far. "Right."

"Yeah, so they're not going to let one of them go down without both of us dying too. And, obviously, that's not good. So I was thinking that, if he has to die in the end anyway, we may as well kill Glair off when we plan to separate. Mason and Monique will be too busy protecting the two of them to bother with him too. It'd be easy. Two versus one - what do you say?"

I go over her idea in my head, thinking it through properly. If it works, I would have another kill to my name and a whole lot of new sponsors. If it fails, then I die... which I'd likely do at some point anyway. It seems worth the risk.

"Okay," I say. "I'll help you."

"Great!" she says, wrapping me in a brief hug. I'm glad to get out of it - physical contact doesn't really appeal to me. "Well... see you whenever then!"

"Yeah," I say, well aware that it's late. "You going to go first?" I gesture to the elevator, and she shakes her head.

"No, you should. They'll be a lot more fussed if they catch you than if they catch me, so I'll run the risk of being caught. District One get away with much more than District Six ever will." She smiles at me, and I walk back to the elevator. They shouldn't find me out, the elevator's noise shouldn't disrupt people if it's only for the brief time I'm in there. By the time it wakes anybody up, I'll be in my bedroom and it'll be Tiara in there. She can talk her way out of almost _anything._

Back on my floor, I tiptoe my way through the apartment until I'm safely in my room. I remove my shoes and jacket and bury myself beneath the covers, and I force myself into a deep sleep. I need to make up for the time I lost from Tiara's little meeting, because I'll need to be wide awake for the new activity tomorrow morning.


	29. Fourth Morning

_Charming Heartsong, 15, Second Male (District 1)_

It's the fourth day in the Capitol now and I still haven't managed to get any of the girls to have sex with me. Tributes seem off-limit now, since we're so close to the arena and I'll have next to no time when I can actually interact with them. I suppose victors are my next option - perhaps they're an even better option, anyway. They're mostly older than the tributes, and that means they're probably a lot better in bed.

Of course, I wouldn't make a move on any of the _older_ victors - just the hot ones who are still quite young, like those two girls from District 4. Maybe I could fuck them both. That would certainly be an experience to remember.

I have to force myself to stop thinking about girls for now, because it's 6am and I should really be getting changed already. It's hard though - I'm already starting to feel the withdrawal from all the female attention I got back home.

The shower water feels hotter today, and it feels as though it is burning my back even though I know it is still at the temperature I set the other day. It must just be my tiredness that's making me feel out of touch with everything this morning.

I'm disappointed to see the absolute lack of nice clothing today. Apparently I wore all the nice stuff, and now the only tops that are left are garish Capitol clothes and a comfortable-looking brown sweater. Neither of them will help in my pursuit, so I decide to go with the sweater and a pair of slim black jeans to save myself the embarassment of dressing in neon pink. I'd look dreadful because, let's face it, pink is _not_ my colour.

In my rush, I almost forget to style my hair. I mean, could you imagine what a fail that could be? Most of the other boys aren't really bothering with theirs, and it's one of the main things I have over them.

Once I'm in the dining room, I find that very few people are here yet for some reason. However, some of the victors are. There's one of those girls from District 4 - the brunette one - and then there is the female victor from District 6. There are two men from District 2, but I pay no attention to them because, well, they're _men._

As I walk closer to the group I see that they are with Crystal, and that means that they're discussing Tiara's alliance. I also see that the girl from District 4's top has a very low neckline, and it's a beautiful sight.

Though I'm perfectly aware of the meeting's purpose, I pretend to be not know in an attempt to get closer to them. "Hey," I say, grinning. "What are you all doing on our floor at this time in the morning?"

"It's none of your business," the District 6 girl says, and I laugh.

"Yeah, but... seriously, what are you doing?"

"Discussing something which isn't any of your business, Charming, as Clara already said," Crystal says, annoyed.

"Is it about Tiara and her allies?"

"Take a wild guess, dumbass."

"That's mean, Crystal," I say, glaring at her. She's not helping me, just like this sweater isn't.

"Yes, and it's mean that you're interrupting our discussion!" Clara says, and I sulk. That's yet another person who won't be sleeping with me tonight. "Look, this is just pointless. He's clearly not planning to go away any time soon so I'm just going to return to my own tributes, okay?"

"Sure," Crystal says through gritted teeth, and both men nod.

"Yeah, we may as well go now," the older of them says, and they both follow Clara to the elevator. Once they're all gone, I'm left alone with two pretty girls. And even though Tiara's mentor has made it very clear that she doesn't like me like that, the other girl hasn't.

"I'm Charming," I say, extending my hand.

"Laigh," she replies, shaking it. I think I could be in with a chance, but then she turns back to Crystal and I feel offended. "Look, Tallie, I may as well go too. There's no point in me being here if there's none of the others. I'd love to stay and chat, but I fear even _that_ would get interrupted by Charming here. Besides, Clodagh's been shockingly happy these past few days and it's concerning me. I'm waiting for another change, because I know it's coming, and I need to be there for her when she does feel down. She's like a baby sister to me, I don't want to see her crying any more than is absolutely necessary."

"I totally get you, Laigh. Go back to your floor, by all means. We can rearrange this thing with the others sometime." The two girls hug, and then Laigh too goes.

Once she is gone, Crystal looks at me with extreme fury in her eyes. "What," she begins, "was _that?"_

"Curiousity, I guess," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Very funny," she says dryly. "Don't flirt with my friends, Charming. That's just awkward to watch."

"Yeah, but I think that she might have been int-"

"Laigh's a _lesbian,_ Charming, you had _no_ chance whatsoever with her. And Clara's asexual, so you coming over to us was totally pointless. So thanks a lot, you just ruined my meeting for no reason whatsoever!" She storms off, but I just stand there completely speechless.

 _Damn._

* * *

 _Lee Nettle, 18, First Male (District 8)_

As an avox brings over some seeded bread knots, I have to fight away the tears. They're like the ones back home, and I miss home. It's the place with my family and Lizzie and Calvin, and I hate to be away from them for this long. What's worse is that I may never get to see them again, but they'll see me through an electronic screen, and what they see of me will probably be in two parts: my head, and then the rest of my body.

It'd be just my typical luck at the moment for me to end up decapitated, after all.

I break one in half and I breathe in. The scent is wonderful, but at the same time it's like a ghost: the ghost of the days when I was actually happy. They weren't all that long ago - a matter of days, even - but they seem like an eternity ago now.

I close my eyes as I eat, trying to trick myself into thinking I'm back in District 8. For a moment it works, but then the clipped accent of Aemilla brings me back to reality. I'm not at home, and I never will be again. My near-perfect life has turned into a horrible disaster, and I hate it - I _hate_ it.

I eat piece after piece of the bread until I feel physically sick and I have to run to my bathroom. I very nearly don't make it, but I just about manage to reach the toilet before I throw up. It's a good job I did, because there's a lot of vomit.

I'm about to stumble back into the main room to fetch an avox, but Woven walks in. "Oh, goodness, Lee, what did you do? Did you just eat too much?" she asks when she sees what is inside the toilet. I nod, avoiding all eye contact. It's a little embarassing.

She leaves the room and comes back with an avox, and shows them what the issue is. The man nods and briskly leaves. In under a minute, he is back with a cleaning bucket. Apparently I got a little bit of sick on the floor, too. The fact makes me blush bright red, knowing how stupid I must seem for overeating that much... of _bread._

I go to the sink and splash my face with water. I'm an emotional wreck right now, and I need to sort myself out... _but how?_


	30. Interview Training

_Dynamo Serkit, 16, Second Male (District 3)_

It's really getting to me now that my mentor is forbidding me from going for the brutal angle. Apparently only tributes from the typical Career districts can go for that, even though I am a volunteer with the same kind of bloodlust as them. I told Adnee that I think it's discrimination, but he's having none of it. He's the victor and therefore that means that he knows best, it seems, even though he obviously doesn't. _I_ am the tribute, and I know far more about my own wellbeing than a man like him ever will.

Who gives a fuck if he's my mentor - he's not listening to me, so I'm not going to listen to him!

Adnee sighs and walks away from me and towards Coguell. I huff - I may not want him, but I don't want for him to abandon me. He isn't supposed to be the one who decides how little he helps me, because that's my job! Honestly? I feel like going over and punching him right now, but the only consequences of me punching Pixel at the reaping were bad ones so I don't want to get into that sort of trouble again, especially with a man who will be controlling my sponsor flow in a few days.

Instead of exploding with fury, I keep a straight face and just nod when the two come over to me with Coguell's younger tribute, Therese, in tow too.

"Look, Dynamo," she says calmly, looking into my eyes to show me she means what she's about to say, "Adnee only wants the best for you. He's a very good mentor and he helped me a lot when Arya pretty much gave up on me. So listen to his advice, because I think you'll really come to regret it in the arena if you don't take it." Then, the two girls are off again, Therese offering a slight smile, and it's just my mentor and I again.

"So..." I say, shuffling my foot.

"So... are you going to at least _try_ to follow my advice?"

"Sure," I say, but only for the sake of myself. I need to keep him on my side when I'm in the arena, and it seems taking his advice is the only way to do that.

* * *

 _Lennon Chai, 17, First Female (District 7)_

"Yes, and now your left foot in front, and th- oh, for goodness' sake, Lennon, can you not just walk like a normal girl?" Samara yells in despair as I fall flat on my face in the pair of extremely high heels she has forced me to wear today. I really, really want to come back at her with some comment about how I'm actually a boy and that it's not my fault I was born in a girl's body, but it would ruin the persona I've been working on. As uncomfortable as I feel with hair extentions, dresses, and high heels, I know that it is the easiest way for me to get sponsors.

 _I wouldn't want for the Capitol to get creeped out by a boy being classed as a female tribute,_ I think, annoyed at the whole world. It's a horrible thing, having to fake being someone who I'm not just to please all the wealthy yet judgemental people. Anybody would hate it - they'd be lying to themself if they denied it.

"Right," Samara says after two avoxes help me onto my feet, "we'll try that again, shall we?"

Ten minutes and about twenty-seven falls later, she throws her arms in the air and cries, "That's it! I can't do this! The girl's useless!" I just look at the floor in shame, annoyed at how she cannot see it through my eyes: I've never walked in high heels before, and she expects me to get the hang of it immediately. It just isn't possible.

Then, an idea comes to me. "May I try walking in flats?" I ask, smiling sweetly. "Only, I think I could achieve much more poise and elegance if I wasn't worried about falling over..."

Reluctantly, she nods. "Fine. We'll give it a try." An avox grabs me a pair in my size and helps me change the shoes over, and the second my feet are near to the ground again I feel much safer. In all honesty, it was rather terrifying to be raised four inches above the floor.

The level of praise changes almost immediately. Apparently I have grace now, whereas before I was just plain useless. Samara is a lot happier with me, and by the time lunch comes around she is satisfied that I am 'turning into a proper lady'. Of course, I would _much_ rather be 'turning into a proper man', but anything to get some sponsors, I suppose...

* * *

 _Centra Redix, 13, Third Female (District 9)_

Before lunch, I was stressing over my evidently poor etiquitte, but now I feel fine. The time spent with my siblings made me realise that I am still the lucky one: I haven't lost everything... yet. And when we go to heaven, we'll be together and we'll also be reunited with our parents, and we can watch over our remaining siblings and protect them as their guardian angels.

Call it idealistic, but I truly believe that is what will happen. I just _know_ that we'll be fine. Talking to Radia and Riley reassured me of that, and now I'm much happier and more willing to battle through anything that may come my way this afternoon. First stop: my interview angle.

As a fifty-two-year-old man, Emereth doesn't really have much idea about how teenage girls work so he keeps asking for my input into ideas. The only issue is that I'm not particularly creative, so I don't really have any. All I know is that I'd really like to be able to act natural, so I propose to him the idea of letting me be my normal self.

Apparently he likes the idea. Accoding to him, I'm 'sweet enough anyway' to make my everyday self seem like a carefully chosen angle, and it makes me smile. It's going to be a lot less stressful for me now I don't have to particularly act.

Instead of having to waste our precious time choosing an angle, Emereth and I go straight to how to conduct yourself in an interview. His advice and years of experience are invaluable to me, because he gives me some really good tips on obscure stuff like how to dodge unwanted questions politely. Though I would have not said it originally, I think he is the best mentor I could have gotten. He is attentive and experienced, and he has brought tributes home in the past. We both know that I won't be the next one he takes back to District 9 alive, but I'm okay with that.

He's good company while I'm still living.

As the hours go on, I begin to sound more and more sophisticated. My humour and gentle side are still the same, but they've just been 'enhanced' to earn the Capitol's support. It's nothing that I cannot manage, and I'm quietly confident that I'll be popular with the crowd.

* * *

 _Kozuki Shamiko, 15, Second Female (District 4)_

Even though she says she is putting her full attention into me today, my mentor seems a little... _distracted_ by people elsewhere.

"Clodagh?" She turns her head to me at the sound of her name, and offers me a small smile.

"Are you okay, Kozuki?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm-" I look up slightly from the ground again to find that she is looking not at me, but at Sebastian. The friend she has made who she clearly cares about much more than me.

"You don't want me to win, do you?" I say, annoyed. Aren't mentors supposed to protect you?

"No, I wish you would, but... Kozuki, I'm stressed, okay? Just give me a minute," she replies lamely as she walk to the wall and just stands there. I know fully well that she doesn't care about me, because she spends too much time with the others. I suppose that it never really occured to her that letting Sebastian spend a lot of time with her and Laigh would make me feel like she couldn't give a shit, but it does - it really does, and it hurts that I'm alone in this.

I sigh. She's seventeen, she's new to all this - she was always going to fuck up this year, and it seems she's managed to do so by making friends with tributes. _Oh, well,_ I think, _I'm better on my own anyway,_ and it's true. I get a lot more done when I have complete control over myself.

That's the reason why I leave before she comes back. I get in the elevator and I go up to my room, and then I begin to practice in front of the mirror. Talking to myself seems stange and... _alien_ to me, but I soon adjust. I can see my every action, my every twitch. By the time Clodagh finds me, I've found a response to practically every question I remember being asked over the years.

"Took your time," I say with a scowl.

"Yeah, I know, I'm- look, Kozuki, I'm so, so sorry," she sobs as she sits on the end of my bed. I sit beside her, not wishing for her to actually _cry._ "This is my first year doing this, and I've messed up. I've gotten too attatched to _all_ of you, and yet at least five of you will die. That's _if I'm lucky._ Probably, all six of you will be gone within the next few weeks, and I honestly don't know how to cope! I can't... I can't do this anymore, Kozuki, _I can't..."_

The same instincts that I have with little Ko kick in and I grab her hand, saying, "It'll be okay," because for her, it will. She's safe now, she has been for a year, but the emotional scars never go. When she raises her other arm to wipe her eyes the edge of her sleeve drops a little, and I see a faint pink line on her pale skin. _I guess the physical ones don't go away either._

After a few silent minutes, she manages to compose herself enough to turn to me and say, "Okay. Let's see what you've got."

She asks me questions very similar to the ones I prepared answers to, but as I talk she points out little things that I would have never noticed. Things like contractions that the Capitol's citizens would _never_ approve of, like 'can't' and 'won't'. It makes me realise that, although I like independance, maybe I am a little better with a small bit of support...


	31. Interview Preparation

_Trigg Yggdrasil, 16, Second Male (District 7)_

As my prep team go about smoothing my skin and washing my hair, I can't help but feel nervous. Yes, I can throw knives well, but that doesn't take away from the fact that I could possibly be dead this time tomorrow if I'm not careful. The feeling is terrifying, and it makes me squirm.

"Stop moving, you silly bastard!" Catrina scolds, and I force myself to be still. As much as I am nervous now, I'll be even more nervous if they deliberately mess up my makeover and it loses me all of my possible sponsors.

After a few torturous minutes in almost silence, Catrina says, "Okay, Trigg, now you can sit up." It's a relief because the table was cold and uncomfortable for my back. They cover me in some sort of yellow cream, and they say it'll be soothing but it stings me. _Relax, Trigg, it'll be fine - they've done this before, you'll be fine._

Except, it's not fine, and I notice my arms begin to turn an unappealing shade of pink. Alexander gasps and nudges Catrina, who bites her lip. "Um..." she says, and it makes me panic.

"What?" I snap.

"It, um... I think you may have, um... had a slight reaction to the lemon scented body cream. It's, um... it's nothing we can't sort out. Don't worry, um... Alexander, could you get some allergy cream?" Her voice is tense and her eyes are wide. Obviously, that's not normal.

"Of course, ma'am," says Alexander, and off he goes. It doesn't take him long to return with a clincal looking tube. He passes it to his superior, and she puts a large blob of it on her gloved hand.

"This is going to burn slightly, Trigg, but it's supposed to. Don't worry when it hurts..."

"If it hurts then why put it on me!" I protest, not happy with all the pain I'm having to endure today.

"If I don't, then you'll be red and possibly bloated throughout your interview. It would be _so_ unsightly, so I need to sort it out before it gets any worse," she explains, and I gulp. I've never been bloated before, and I don't think I should ever like to be either.

* * *

 _Astra Moorfield, 14, Third Female (District 11)_

"I think they made me look really pretty, don't you?" I say to Eloise, my stylist, as she walks into the room.

"They've done a good job on you," she says, smiling. She pokes my shoulder lightly. "Your skin is very smooth."

"I know!" I exclaim. "I love it! It's so nice, and soft, and not at all itchy! I think it's wonderful, and I bet that I look at least fifteen now. I mean, I'm quite pretty, so that means my face could make me pass as one year older, right? And my skin is shiny and it makes me look _way_ more polished and grown-up, for sure."

"Right..." she says, frowning slightly now. Obviously, she doesn't think I love much older. "Anyway, let's get you your dress shall we?"

"Yeah, let's do that. What did you make me? Ooh, is it red?" I squeal excitedly, impatient to see her creation. "I _love_ red, it's the colour of strawberries! I mean, nothing else that is edible is any better than those joyous things. They're just so delicious, and sweet, and-"

"Astra, what did I tell you last time? Stop it with the strawberries. You have an obsession, and that's totally fine, but keep it to yourself! Got it?"

"Yeah," I mutter quietly as she leaves the room and goes to retrieve my fine attire.

"Here it is," she announces as she returns. She takes it out of its cover and helps me put it on. The first thing about it that disappoints me is the colour: it's not red... it's _orange._

The second thing that disappoints me is something that I don't notice until I look in the mirror. There are frills everywhere, and it makes me look _younger_ rather than older. It's having the reverse effect to what I wanted, and I'm about to start ranting about it but I bite my tongue. There's no time to alter it now, so I may as well stay on good terms with my stylist.

I just have to present myself well enough to overcome my childish dress.


	32. Interviews

_Gleam Rier, 29, Victor of the 364th Hunger Games (District 1)  
_

"Wow," Tallie says, and I turn to look where she is looking. It's Venera Valentine. "Well, I thought her outfit last year was bad enough, but I've been proven wrong. That's _horrible._ "

I can't help but agree: the silver dress covered in thin gold chains just looks tacky and vile. Worse still, I can't think of a single purpose as to why someone would put _chains_ on an important gown.

"Welcome, welcome," she cries, "to the fifteenth Quarter Quell! Now, tonight I'm going to be interviewing all our amazing tributes, and I can't wait! In fact, shall we begin right away?"

There are cheers of "Yes!" and squeals of joy from the Capitol crowds surrounding us all, and I grimace. I much prefer the spectator building us victors get for the parade.

"All right then! Without further ado, let's give a warm welcome for Miss Tiara Holden!" The expression on Tallie's face turns stern as her tribute walks onstage. The minutes the tributes get onstage are make-or-break for them, and if they screw it up then all of their sponsor funds are gone. It's a terrifying moment.

I remember my own interview and how nervous I was. I was second, and I followed on from my district partner - Fiorelli. She messed up, said some things wrong, and she got very few sponsors despite her 9. In a way, I should be thankful, because she was fierce and if she did well in her interview then maybe it would be her sitting here instead of me, but I still just feel pity for her.

I hear her tears that night in the tears of every tribute who doesn't do as well as they hoped.

Tiara, however, won't be crying tonight. She looks stunning in pastel blue, and she answers every question with confidence. I've got no doubts that she will definitely do well, and the other victors seem to know that too because there is complete silence in our small section.

"Next up, the lovely Miss Lyndon Meyers! Hello, Lyndon! I must say, your stylist has done a wonderful job tonight..."

Personally, I think her outfit is mediocre but the Capitol seem to like it well enough. Though not as much as Tiara, Lyndon seems quite confident and self-assured throughout. I think she'll do well with the sponsors for sure. Italia, however, seems annoyed. Her hate for her tribute is becoming common knowledge, and it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable at times.

After her, it's Opal. She tries her best, bless her, but no child that age can make themself seem as scary as an older tribute - even if they are a volunteer.

"...Mr Platinum Victorian! Hello, Platinum!"

"Good day to you too, Miss Valentine," he says, bending down and kissing Venera's hand. She blushes, and Tallie explodes.

" _HOW FUCKING DARE HE ACT SO... SO..._ NICE!" she screams, and the people all around us stop and stare. Thankfully, her voice hasn't quite reached the stage, so Platinum doesn't take the chance to slag her off like he so probably would have done if he had heard her. Instead, he goes about his interview like any other tribute would do, not knowing that he probably just lost a load of potential sponsors when a popular victor announced her hatred for him.

"Tallie, calm down," I say quietly. She nods - a victor has to be careful on how they present themself, and she's toeing the line right now. She grits her teeth but says no more, and I sigh in relief. There would have been trouble for us all if she continued. Armani shakes his head slightly, but I don't think it's because of her insulting his tribute. He doesn't like him any more than the rest of us do.

My own tribute is as cocky as ever, and it makes me smile. He's consistent, I'll give him that. Tallie, however, is annoyed at him also. He ruined her meeting this morning, and now she wants him to pay. Thankfully, Pandora senses the unrest and initiates a conversation with her. After all, if one of us loses our temper then it affects _all_ of us.

Finally, there is Peridott. It's unusual for all of us, because there hasn't been a District 1 tribute go for the 'cute' angle within living memory, even for the older ones of us. He pulls it off magnificently, though, and Aspire nods. All in all, I think our tributes have done rather well for themselves.

* * *

 _Selaphine Hallow, 19, Victor of the 371st Hunger Games (District 2)  
_

Aella sits in silence as we wait for our first tribute, and the lack of proper company is beginning to get on my nerves. Eventually, I cannot take it any longer.

"Look, Aella, you've been silent practically all evening. It's your second damn year mentoring, you know the process from last time! What is your _problem?"_ I groan.

"I'm concentrating," she mutters through gritted teeth, "and you're distracting me." I sigh, but say not another word. Instead, I watch as attentively as she does as Petra comes onstage, and I pick up... well, not much really. Petra's responses are all very brief and she gives out very little information about herself. Her voice is rather monotone too, and I can't help but feel... well, _bored._

The end of her interview cannot come quick enough for me - I hated every moment of it. The only good thing is that it means that it is Elle's interview now, and she's my own responsibility.

It makes me really sad that she is a tribute, I won't lie. I've lived in Victors' Village for near to four years now, since she was just twelve, and I've seen her grow into the girl she is now. I don't want for her to go in that arena - she's too good, too _kind_ to die.

She's far too innocent for this world, and all I can do is pray that her journey up to Heaven begins in the most painless way there is. I mean, of course I'm going to do everything I can to bring her home, but I can't help but feel like already my efforts are futile. It won't stop me though - I won't stop trying until the very moment she takes her final breath and the cannon sounds for her.

The way she is choosing to present herself is really helping her chances, though. Having been in the spotlight for a long time, she's not too camera shy nowadays. She's presenting herself well and in a very professional manner. It's rather admirable, really, and far more suited to the Capitol's tastes than the more individual approaches some tributes choose to take.

The interview goes really smoothly, but then the final question comes. "How does your father feel about you entering this year?" Venera asks, and I bite my lip. _Of c_ _ourse they were going to ask her that,_ I think. It was stupid of me to not prepare her for a question like that, and it looks like it is a fatal mistake. She's just fidgeting, showing off her ultimate lack of self-confidence.

And it's all my fault that it's ending like this. Not her fault - _mine._ As her mentor, it was my damn responsibilty to prepare her! And I failed. And now I feel so devastated because I could have just cost that girl - the girl I know so well now - her life.

I don't listen when she actually answers. I can't make myself, because I know that I have wronged her.

Arminta's doesn't seem to go much better, judging my Aella's face. It's distorted itselff about sixteen times in the past few minutes, and it's never been in a good way.

Mason is _impressive._ He's always implied that he's strong and powerful, and now he is taking comtrol and presenting himself in that light. It's admirable, even. All good things must come to an end, though, and he is replaced by Glair who, fortunately, also presents himself well.

Finally, it's Invictus' turn. For a fourteen-year-old, he puts on a very good show. I think he could actually do well. In fact, I think that all of the boys could. The girls, though? I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

 _Adnee Romulus, 26, Victor of the 367th Hunger Games (District 3)_

"Arya, stop it," I groan, sick and tired of hearing her moan about Coguell. She's making it seem like a crime that she's had to go to the toilet during the ceremony, even though that's totally absurd.

Honestly? Arya's a bitch, and I'll be glad next year when it's just Coguell and I again.

She's back before Pixel comes onstage, and I throw a pointed look in Arya's direction. It says, _I told you so,_ but in a _slightly_ more subtle and mature way. We remain silent, but after a few moments Coguell notices something is wrong and asks, "What's up now?" in a worried tone.

"Nothing, I'll talk to you later," I say flippantly, not wanting to create any more tension before we're all safely back on the third floor. We don't need to draw any more attention to ourselves than usual. She nods, and the interview starts almost as though it were on cue. I mean, I know it isn't, but sometimes coincidences are very funny things indeed.

Pixel has a nice smile, but nothing else of note. She's just rather plain, and it's unfortunate for her because it means she's pretty much dead already. Therese, however, is a little star. No, she might not be presenting herself in a particularly strong way, but she's got a sob story to die for. Worries about her sister killing her? The Capitol are sucking it all up, and she's going to go far because of it. Coguell has a good tribute in her for sure.

Pixey just goes on... and on about all sorts of mythical creatures though, and Coguell whispers to me, "The girl's insane. What, with her and Tech Tho-fucking-hatdospeeelle, Arya's screwed. Not as though she cared in the first place, but regardless: she's got no chance of a victor."

I can't help but laugh.

Bug talks about his family, and even though I know that he's going to get very few sponsors in total, hopefully it'll get him one out of pure adoration for the adorable little sister he describes.

I mean, it's unlikely, but one can dream - right?

Dynamo's too cocky for his own good in his interview. He's a great guy and all, but he's too immature to be a victor. Career or no Career, he's going to die in there in the end.

His downfall will be nowhere near as soon as Arya's final tribute though, and I can't help but snigger as Tech tries to lick Venera's handheld microphone. It's slightly creepy, yes, but I've gotten used to it by now. In fact, it's probably going to seem strange _without_ someone who is sexually attracted to machines around. It's become normality, and it'll be weird when he is gone.

* * *

 _Clodagh Aster, 17, Victor of the 374th Hunger Games (District 4)_

 _This is so horrible,_ I think as Monique comes onstage. I've paid attention to every single tribute's interview, and they're all as fresh as ever in my mind. Charming's flirtations, Petra's abrupt responses, Therese's sad stories... they're all jabbing at me like a knife. It makes me feel unsettled that they're all going to die - well, seventy-one of them are - but the dress my stylist has put me in makes it hard to even wriggle in my seat. It's too tight around my body, the neckline is too low, and the black looks harsh against my pale skin. The only good things about it are the long sleeves and... well, that's about it.

It's like they're trying to make me look sexy, but I don't want them to do that. I mean, sure, I guess I'm pretty enough, but I'm only _seventeen._ I don't _want_ for slimy Capitol men to be after my body. Sure, the Victor Sex Trade is illegal nowadays, but it doesn't mean that rape doesn't happen. I've heard of plenty of cases of sexual assault on victors, and I don't like the idea of it. Surely they're meant to _protect_ us, but the Capitol don't do anything remotely close to that in reality.

Monique is fairly typical of a Career girl, much like me last year, but I long for her to stand out. I haven't spoken with her much but she seems like she's capable, and I wish people would sponsor her just so that she has a chance. She's fierce, she's the kind of person who would actually cope as a victor... Laigh's got a good tribute. She just needs to show herself in a more... _unique_ way.

When Kozuki comes around, though, I gulp. She's so sweet and I don't want her to die. But I abandoned her so she shall die, and the very least I can do for her now is let the guilt consume my very soul, because that's what it feels like. It feels _wrong_ to go on letting her think I'm totally on her side, to lead her on like this. I don't like it one bit, but it's too late to tell her now. I'm not going to stress her out the night before the arena. I don't want her to lose any sleep over me and my cruel actions.

Ally is adorable, in my eyes, though I don't think that was her aim. She's sure to bring in some sponsor money for District 4, but she's not going to receive any parachutes because of it. No - we've all abandoned her too. And I keep trying to see the sense behind the whole system, because I know it is there, but I can't justify it still. The only good thing for Al is that she is allied with Seb, and Seb is getting sponsor money spent on him. Maybe I can find a way to send something that'll benefit her too - I'd feel a lot less guilty if I did, that's for sure.

Maybe it's wrong to try and feel less guilty, though. Maybe it's not fair on them if I try to feign indifference to their lives being cut so short. But I guess I'll find out some day, at the point when I stop caring at all and just accept whatever happens. _That_ is when I will find out what's really right... but it's just so far away.

Troye is so plain I hear someone yawn, but I feel pity for him. He's still a tribute like any other. He still has emotions, and when the crowd shows such absolute boredom it must feel torturous. The silence at the end of his interview where applause should be is almost painful.

Seb is after him, and I bite my bottom lip. He's still optimistic about it all, despite knowing that it's not all fairy dust and rainbows. I mean, I suppose that could be the arena, but I doubt it. The point is: he's too gentle and pure for this, and I know that, as much as I hate to admit it, he's not cut out for the Hell that victors go through. A true friend does what is best for them, even if it isn't what they want. I need to prove to him that I am a true friend, and that's going to take some harsh realisation on his behalf.

 _I can't do it though,_ I think as I accept a glass of wine from an avox. _I can't just give up on him because I think that's what is best for him. It'd just be wrong._ In my mouth, the red liquid is bitter and I hate it, but it's a small relief for me at this moment. It lets me hide away my worries about Seb, and just focus on what's _right_ rather than every single little thing that is _wrong._

He is replaced by the young Darryn, and he makes me smile. Dar is a great person, he really is, and I think that we would have become great friends if he was a bit older than he is. Of course, that's not how it is, but I still watch his interview with an attentive eye. He stands a good chance in there, and I don't even think that being a victor would break him.

Maybe I should have allocated my sponsor funds to him instead of someone who's better off dead.

"Well, that was that," Kara says. "Any thoughts?" She scans us with her eyes and settles on me. "Clodagh? Anything to say?"

Her glare practically bores holes into me, and I can't take it anymore. I burst into tears for all the children whose lives will be lost, and the one whose life shall be ruined, and I run out of the stadium as far as I can. A guard stops me on the way and tries to force me back to the victors' zone but I protest so much that he eventually allows me back to the tribute centre and floor four.

I need some space to sort myself out, because this thing where I become an emotional wreck whenever the dying thing comes up? It needs to stop, and it needs to stop very soon indeed.

* * *

 _Robert Alsen, 54, Victor of the 338th Hunger Games (District 5)  
_

Delta is up first for us, and she looks flawless in a floor-length black gown. All the way through her interview, Venera tries to present her as a Career but Delta keeps having to tell her that that's not how she sees it. According to Delta, she's just a "girl with some allies from Career districts". It's true, she's not the Career type herself, but it would have been quite helpful if she let us present her as that for a bit so we could get her some sponsors.

Scintillaea looks dreamy as she talks. She seems optimistic, but not unrealistically so. It's a nice little interview she has, but it's not overly memorable. It's a shame, because she is a nice girl, but I doubt that she will survive. It's the same as any other year: the villains will win, and Scintillaea just isn't a villain.

Nomi is _brilliant_ at entertaining the crowd. Despite her clear lack of relevant skills, I'm certain that she will get at least one Capitol citizen sponsoring her because of how memorable and adorable she is. She's all overdramatic and she keeps talking about wanting to win to be famous and lead a life being loved by all of Panem. The crowd around me are eating up every word she says, not realising that she believes that it's all just one big hoax. If they knew, then nobody here would be as supportive towards her as they are acting right now.

I can't lie, Stevie's interview is not good. He just keeps talking to the crowds, which would be good if he wasn't neglecting the extremely popular Venera by doing so. I told him to answer her nicely, but apparently he's too obnoxious to listen. It's his loss, I guess. Soon I can forget him just like every other deceased tribute who I have ever mentored.

Aestus is boring, boring, boring. You'd think that the Capitol would love a story about reaped friends, but they're as sick of this whole ceremony by now as I am. Maybe he would have fared better if he was from District 2, but he isn't so his whole jolly angle is a flop.

When Percy comes onstage, I don't even feel guilty for wanting to fall asleep already. This is all too plain, too repetitive, too... well, _everything._ It's just a mess this year, and I'll be glad when these Hunger Games are over.

* * *

 _Clara Donoghue, 29, Victor of the 363rd Hunger Games (District 6)  
_

Rhoena doesn't disappoint. She gives the same impression as her Career allies, and it'd be hard to tell that she wasn't from 1, 2, or 4 if you didn't already know. She's sure to be happy with that - _anybody_ would be.

Kiora, however, is shy and constantly on edge. I think she's a lovely girl, I really do, but I have my doubts about how far she'll go. I'm pretty certain that she has no chance of coming home, and I think that she knows that too. Considering she had no escort to teach her proper etiquitte, however, I feel as though it could be a lot worse. At least she isn't memorable in a _negative_ way.

The girl who comes after her, however... Well, fucking Deliah Saunders acts like she owns the place. She is arrogant and overly sarcastic, despite her tender age, and I'm even more definite than ever that she will die. _Good,_ I think, _I don't want her home._

In all honesty, I think she would ruin my peace. She would turn my daily life to Hell, and I really don't want that. After all, it'd be impossible for me to torture the Capitol if they could just laugh in my face anyway.

Sherman is an absolute pain. I actually want him to die already, because he's putting our district to shame. Yet he's too consumed with himself to realise this, the arrogant boy. Venera's own distaste for his refusal to abswer her questions is showing, and the Capitol's people are _bound_ to not sponsor him now. After all, who would want to go against the wishes of one of the most popular people in the nation?

Not them, that's for sure.

Leone's interview is a weird and awkward one. He answers all questions with cryptic responses, and it's clearly perplexing Venera Valentine. It's almost as though everything he says conceals a fatal secret, though I wouldn't know what that could possibly be. No, he's too private a person for me to know something like that. Regardless of it all though, I think he could gain a couple of sponsors. He has an exceptionally good training score, after all, and being mysterious has been known to be effective in the past.

Yes, it clearly isn't just an angle with Leone, but if some people in the Capitol see in that way then he'll get sponsored by them for sure.

By the time Malachi is reached, most of the victors are bored (well, the ones I can see look it). Despite that, most of them manage to practically melt at how cute Malachi seems still. He's optimistic and sweet, and he keeps talking about his family back home. He says he misses his parents, and his brothers Caleb and Silas, and it tugs at the heartstrings. He's not a particularly sponsor-worthy tribute based on skill alone, but maybe he'll manage to get a bottle of water or something in the arena from someone who feels pity for him.

One can hope, and that's all one can do in the end. Whether or not hoping shall be enough, I am yet to see.

* * *

 _Amazonia Lyons, 42, Victor of the 350th Hunger Games (District 7)  
_

"Amazonia, we're up!" Allie says cheerfully, and I look up at the stage. Sure enough, Lennon is walking over to Venera and she is smiling, but she looks uncomfortable. Maybe it's the dress - it _is_ a bit of an embarrasing design, I must say. It reveals a bit too much of her chest, considering that she is only seventeen still, and it's in a garish shade of green.

I screw up my face - really, her stylist could have done a lot better. Despite this, Lennon manages to keep her cool and has a relatively uneventful interview. The only negative attention she'll be getting is for her outfit - _not_ her conduct.

Azalea looks tense and nervous as she walks onstage and when I turn to the wings I can see why. Giana waits there, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She probably asked if she could talk to her older sister before saying something to scare Azalea, the little bitch. Really, I'm learning to quite like Azalea, but I cannot stand Giana. She's so _fake_ and the act she puts on is sickening. Feigning innocence to cover up the fact that you beat up your own sister... it's just disgusting, if you ask me. Talking of Giana...

When the barrel of nerves that is Azalea ends her interview, her younger sister takes her place. She radiates confidence yet still acts nice and laughs at Venera's random jokes. She's going to bring in quite a few sponsors and that should make me, as her mentor, feel happy - but it doesn't because I don't exactly want for her to return.

My fellow District 7 victor grows even more attentive when her own tributes come around. Oliver does a good job of acting tough, but there are so many tributes this year that I can't help but worry that he could blend into the masses still. He didn't really do anything to particularly stand out in a tribute batch so large.

Trigg speaks well, but his skin is all pink and puffy. Obviously, there was an issue behind the scenes and it hasn't worked out well for him. "Damn it," Allie says beside me, "I was counting on him getting some sponsors tonight." She's right, that could have just ruined his chances in the arena. The sponsors will choose someone pretty from District 2 or something like that instead. They always do - nobody wants to sponsor someone ugly if they can help it, after all. It doesn't seem fair at all, but the Hunger Games have _never_ been fair. That's just life, and we have to deal with it.

Asher is sweet and polite, but he isn't exactly memorable. Maybe if he's lucky he'll manage to escape the Bloodbath unscathed, but I doubt he'll be on our radars for much longer than that. He'll die, that's for certain.

"Crap," Allie groans when his interview is over, "that was all crap. Amazonia, we've got absolutely no chance this year." And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

 _Woven Mardell, 30, Victor of the 359th Hunger Games (District 8)  
_

I can't help but feel nervous for Velvet as she makes her way onstage. The girl's a mess right now, and rightly so. In fact, considering the situation she has managed to get herself into, I think she is managing to show herself in a very good light indeed. I would have broken down before Venera even asked me the first question.

 _She's used to all this stuff though,_ I remind myself, and it's true. She's a model, she's hardly a stranger to having all eyes on her. Then again, it's serving her badly in other ways. For example, Venera keeps asking her about all the Capitol men who love her and would be sure to date her if she won, and it obviously unnerves her a bit. She's still not over that gamemaker - understandably so, considering it was only yesterday - and I don't think she's ever planning on having sex with someone from the Capitol ever again.

I just count myself lucky that I've never had to. I never will have to either, thanks to all the victors who used to commit suicide after being made to sleep with Capitol scumbags. I can't help but pity them and their lost chances at life, but I'm grateful to them at the same time. If they were still alive, I would be even less free than I am today.

Maybe I'm not an entirely free citizen, but at least I'm not anybody's sex slave.

The worst thing is that, if she won, Velvet probably would manage to get herself caught up in the trade regardless of how illegal it is now. President Blain would find a way to make money out of her, that's for sure. Pretending that a girl that pretty is chaste would be an opportunity wasted in the eyes of somebody as twisted as him.

Even though I have grown to like the girl, I don't want her to win. Death is preferable to the inevitable slavery she would have to suffer through if she was the sole surviver this year.

She makes it through the whole interview without crying, and I'm relieved. It's less than twenty-four hours before they all get placed in the arena where they shall kill one another, and crying on camera before then wouldn't have dine her any favours. She is calmly replaced by Brietta, and the corners of my mouth turn up.

The reason I'm smiling is because Brietta is _excellent_ at presenting herself properly. As the mayor's daughter, she already had quite good manners. Venera seems very happy indeed as she interviews her, because Brietta is as polite and respectful as she could possibly be. The only downside to this is that she isn't showing much personality, but that's not as much of a worry as showing an unlikeable personality would be.

Taylor is cheerful and sweet. I'm not sure why, but she has been much happier these past few days. I'm happy for her, whatever the reason for her joy. A girl her age deserves as much happiness as she can get, especially considering that she's likely going to die soon. Yes, she's not much younger than I was when I won, but I was much fiercer than her. Taylor is too gentle to stand a chance at returning to District 8 as the victor.

Lee may be much older than her, but he also manages to earn some cuteness points when he brings up his little sister. The way he describes her, he manages to make her sound like a total angel. It could do wonders for him if he manages to survive the initial Bloodbath.

Thomas' interview is actually insufferably bad. For a volunteer, he's presenting himself in an awfully bad light. Maybe he thinks it's admirable to keep talking about the boy he volunteered for, but the constant 'Sven this' and 'Sven that' makes him just seem _boring._

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder and it makes me jump. "Boo!" Ivy laughs, and I push her gently. "Did I scare you?"

"Ivy, I've been in the Hunger Games. People creeping up on me is _bound_ to scare me!"

"Point taken," she says with a grin. "I guess not everybody is as perfect and fearless as I am."

"Stop being so arrogant," I joke, making her laugh again.

"It's only arrogance if it's not true," she whispers, and I nudge her again.

"Shh! My final tribute is coming onstage. I promise you, once Jake is finished, _then_ we can have a proper conversation." She nods at my request, and both of us turn back to the stage. All he talks about is the plain things in District 8, however, and Ivy frowns.

"He's a little boring, Woven. There's really no point in you watching, you won't be able to get him any sponsors."

"Some of us actually want to support our tributes regardless of all that, you know," I moan, annoyed that she's interrupting yet again. She may be my best friend, but she's still ridiculously annoying at times. I mean, I guess that everyone is, but Ivy always manages to choose the most irritating moments to distract me at. Like now, for example.

Then again, I'm lucky to have her at all. Fate can be a funny thing sometimes, and I'm eternally thankful that we both survived our individual Hunger Games. In all honesty, I'm not sure I'd be as sane as I am now if she wasn't here for me.

* * *

 _Ryeleighe Rawton, 37, Victor of the 356th Hunger Games (District 9)  
_

If you asked me two weeks ago whether I thought I would be shuddering at my tribute's interview then I would have said no, but here I am! Natalia has abandoned her seat by Venera in favour of showing the men in the front rows her chest, and it makes me feel physically sick. The girl is disgusting.

By the time she's been forced back onstage, she's kissed at least five men. I tell you now, that girl is unbelievable at times. Like when she finally answers a question of Venera's about weaponry, and says that she'll use her hair because a boy supposedly fainted one time she flipped it. Personally, I think she is lying, but with Natalia one can never _quite_ be certain.

What disgusts me most is that she is around the same age as my own daughter. I would _never_ let Adeline do the things she has done in the past few days, because I brought her up to be a respectable young woman. And by that, I don't mean I made her become hideously posh - no, I just made sure she was _normal_ and didn't act like a future prostitute! If I was her parent, I would be ashamed of what she has become, and that's coming from someone who doesn't usually think like that.

Radia, the first of the Redix trio, walks onstage after Natalia is escorted off and despite the fact that she is less than spectacular, she seems amazing after the horror that came before her. Who knows? I many even be able to get her a sponsor or two!

Centra is overly optimistic but in a good way. She managed to lift the dull and dreary mood of the crowd, all of the Capitol citizens very bored after the extremely long set of interviews, and make them interested again because of how bubbly she is. Maybe she won't get any sponsors herself, but she's sure done a favour for all the people who have to come after her.

Risetto is quite distant throughout his interview. He doesn't let on much, sticking with his usual tactic of keeping himself to himself. Who knows? It could actually work out for him, since it adds a sense of mysery to him. It's certainly unique amongst this year's tributes - _especially_ when compared to Natalia. The two really are polar opposites, and that's an incredibly good thing for him. There won't be any comparisons to be made between him and his district partner.

During Barley's, I'm just really, really bored. I've sat through so many interviews already, and I just want for them to be over with so I can sleep. For that reason, I don't pay him much attention, and I don't even feel guilty over it. He's not my tribute, watching him is the responsibilty of his own mentor. It'd be polite, sure, but I'm too tired to care about manners.

I make a slight effort to watch Riley's, but I soon give up when I realise that he's just making himself seem cute. I guess Clawd just decided that all tributes who are young and male should go for the angle he went for, but it just isn't enough in a year like this.

Unfortunately, I think that little Riley could end up being one of the first to die.

* * *

 _Grange Robeni, 24, Victor of the 368th Hunger Games (District 10)_

I finally managed to get Hettie to help me keep Adam away from Alie, and so far, our perfect formation of Alie, then me, then Hettie, then Adam at the other end of the line has stayed put. Adam hasn't tried his luck and attempted to get to Alie yet tonight, which is a very good thing. Maybe she'll actually manage to sleep without worrying about Adam creeping into the room tonight. I still doubt that she would sleep alone whilst she's in the same building as him, but it's a small improvement. It's not fair on her to keep losing sleep over some gross elderly man with weird sexual fantasies involving women much, much younger than him.

When Natalie comes onstage, I turn to see his reaction and he's nodding with an evil glint in his eyes whilst licking his lips. Clearly, he likes her also, despite her being a married mother. _What a sick man_ , I think, unable to understand what would make him want to have sex with someone who is still just a girl really. It could never be appropriate for someone his age to be with a seventeen-year-old, no matter how mature they seem. That's just paedophilia.

Natalie talks about her little boys back home, and it seems to touch the audience's hearts because a chorus of 'aw's can be heard. If she could get some sponsor money for the District 10 fund then that would be _excellent._

Sylvie is sweet, and it's a pleasant enough interview. Sure, I think that she could maybe have stood out from the masses a bit more, but there's nothing particularly _wrong_ with it. Eucalyptus, however, is a mess. Every time she is asked a question about her private session, she starts to shake nervously. Once again, I'm getting the feeling that she might have done something she didn't want to do in there. Whatever it was, it sure messed the poor kid up.

Vernon is arrogant and unlikeable, though he seems oblivious to that, and I pay very little attention to him. Florian, however, is very likeable indeed in his interview. I quite like the boy, I won't lie, and I'll be sorry to see him go tomorrow.

Finally, Hugo talks about his friend's family and the adventures he has had with them. He mentions his own deceased family, yes, but only briefly, so it's clear he isn't going for the sob-story-sympathy angle. His interview is happy and lovely to watch, and it feels strange how someone that pure can be mentored by someone as impure as Adam.

"Well," Hettie says, "that went quite fine, in my eyes."

"I would say the same, Hettie," I say, and Alie nods.

"Yeah, it went pretty well this year," she says, but Adam remains silent, just staring at her now that she has taken a step forward and she is in his eyeline. It gives me shivers, but I don't think she has realised he's watching her yet, so I nudge her arm discretely. She sees where he is looking again, and her eyes widen. "Adam," she begins firmly, "stop staring at me, or you shall not live to see tomorrow - do I make myself clear?"

Adam nods, but as soon as her back is turned he smirks and I can't help but think that this isn't over, and I'm beginning to wonder if it will end until the very day he dies.

* * *

 _Ivy Dawne, 30, Victor of the 358th Hunger Games (District 11)  
_

"Shut up," I say through gritted teeth, not particularly wanting to unnecessarily draw attention to myself, "I'm trying to watch Orchid's interview."

"Oh, so it's okay for _you_ to want to watch _your_ tributes, but it's totally terrible of _me_ for wanting to watch _mine?"_ Woven teases, but I just roll my eyes. The less attention I pay to her, the more I'll actually learn from these interviews. I need to know what angle to present my tributes in to make them appeal to the potential sponsors.

Annoyingly, I've managed to miss the rest of it by her being so playful. "Thanks a lot," I mutter sarcastically, "now I can't comment on her great public appeal when the sponsors ask about her strengths."

"Oops?"

"Shut up, Woven. Like, I really enjoy your company and all, but not when I'm trying to watch an interview."

"How hypocritical of you!"

"Yeah, well... whatever, I guess. We can battle this out later."

"It's a deal," she quickly says, an evil glint in her eye. "I shall prove that you are a hypocrite _later."_

"Like I said, that's fine by me. Just shut the fuck up for now."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Shall do," she giggles, miming zipping her mouth shut. It's hard, but I manage to fight off my own laughter.

Scoria is as bitchy and rude as ever. I suppose the _polite_ term would be 'conceited', but I'm not one to be polite about those who aren't exactly polite about me. I mean, she's called me a whore at least three times in the last two days, and I've honestly had enough of it. I'm not a whore - never have been and never will be, but girls like her just seem to want to make others' lives a misery for no valid reason. All I can say is thank _goodness_ that I have friends to remind me about how full of absolute bullshit her claims are.

Woven breaks her vow of silence during Astra's interview. "Goodness," she says, "can't that girl ever shut up?"

"Unfortunately, no. I don't think she can. Now, shh! I'm trying to pay attention."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry again, I guess. Serves you right for interrupting me earlier, though."

"I told you, we can talk _later._ Now shut up!" I snap, and she hits me on the arm playfully. She doesn't say another word, though, so I don't complain about her seriously annoying habit of jokingly hitting and pushing me whenever she feels like it.

Castor does a very good job of seeming distant and slightly terrifying, and I can already tell that Sorrel will be bigging him up to sponsors. I can't say that I blame him. The same can be said for Pepper, who is equally good at presenting himself in a sponsor-worthy light. Sorrel's duo are looking like they could go far.

District 11's final human offering leaves a more bitter taste in my mouth though. As pleasant as Luka seems, I can't get poor Chye out of my mind. He's still in hospital, and apparently it isn't looking like he's going to make it. Now, I'm a strong woman, but it's enough to make even me almost cry. I can only imagine how hard it must be for Luka, knowing that he is without a mentor.

"Okay, _now_ can I talk again?" comes a voice from beside me, and it makes me feel a little less sad. No matter what happens over the coming weeks, I'll still have my best friend to help me through it all.

* * *

 _Eilam Holmes, 71, Victor of the 319th Hunger Games (District 12)_

"Eilam! _Eilam!"_ being screamed into my ear as Olive shakes me vigorously is what I wake up to, and I'm not happy about it in the slightest.

"What... the actual... _fuck..._ was _that...?"_

"You deserved it," she says with a scowl on her face. "You slept through the interview of Amber, and I wasn't going to do the same to a second tribute! Charity is coming onstage now, okay, and you're bloody well going to watch her!"

Olive pulls me up carelessly and pushes me through the masses of victors to get a clear view of the second tribute. All I catch before I escape her control and start to make my way back to my chair is, "Can't you see, Venera? I don't want to live anymore."

"Eilam! Come back!" Olive shouts, and the two younger women from District 8 and District 11 scowl at her.

"Could you be quiet, Olive?" the tall one groans. "Only, Ivy and I were attempting to have a conversation, and it would be very much appreciated if you _didn't_ go around screaming your head off. I'm sure that we aren't the only ones who take issue with that." Her voice has a bitter tone, and it makes me chuckle. My fellow District 12 victor always seems to like to pretend she's so much _better_ than I am, but she's equally disliked. In fact, she may even be _more_ disliked among the other victors than I am.

It's a very nice fact indeed.

I don't bother to watch the other tributes' interviews. Instead, I return to where I sat before and go back to sleep. It's _far_ more interesting than any tribute's self-promotion could _ever_ be.


	33. Fifth Night

_Arminta Massina, 13, Third Female (District 2)_

"Just shut up now, Arminta," Petra says as she leaves the elevator as quickly as possible. Honestly, I'm not sure what her issue with me is, but she certainly has one. She's going to have to get used to me and my ways though, considering that we're in the same alliance.

"Rude," I grumble, but Aella - my mentor - just rolls her eyes.

"Arminta, sometimes you need to learn when to stop. Petra is, if you couldn't tell already, very tired. We all are. And you chatting away at her really isn't going to get her in a better mood, so you need to be quiet. Pick up the social hints, okay?" I want to say something contradictory to what she is saying but nothing really comes to mind so I bite my tongue and nod. "Good. Now, I'm going to get a nap myself so if you want something then just call an avox. Just... whatever you do, don't interrupt me. It's the night before the arena, so if I were you I would seriously consider the fact that however well I do at mentoring you is going to be largely based upon how much sleep I've gotten. And on that note, I'm going to go to the peace of my room," Aella says, and she walks calmly to her suite.

In all honesty, I've never really been able to grasp how she manages to stay so relaxed at all times. Nobody else is as calm as her - except maybe Selaphine, though she has her stressed moments.

Annoyed, I make my way to my own room. Upon attempting to enter it, though, I learn that I am unable to get through the door in my large dress. Tutting loudly, I make my way across the apartment to the nearest avox and get him to help me undress. It's only once my dress is off and Invictus is walking to a nearby chair that I realise that I am stark naked in the middle of a mixed-sex apartment.

Blushing, I run to my room as fast as I can. There's not much that could be more embarassing than revealing my childlike frame to a teenage boy, and that's what I just did.

When I get into my room, I feel like crying. I mean, it's not like anything actually _happened,_ but I still feel too revealed. The whole idea of random boys seeing my nude body doesn't sit well with me, to say the least.

After a quick shower, I throw on a blouse and some comfortable trousers before heading off to the dinner table. It's laid out with a wonderful multitude of foods, and it is really rather pleasing on the eye. It makes me regret not searching for a _looser_ pair of trousers to account for my potential food baby tonight.

The meal goes fine until something I say manages to personally offend Invictus. He grabs me by the shoulders, pulls me away from the seat, and starts to threaten me.

"I would rip off your shirt and show the others what I saw," he says, "but there really isn't much worth looking at."

"Shut the fuck up, you... you... you _arsehole!"_ I cry, making Invictus laugh and Petra roll her eyes yet again. I'm feeling like it's me against the world when I hear a female voice coming from the table.

"Leave her alone, Invictus. She's thirteen, for goodness' sake. It's not fair." The voice is my mentor's, and it shocks me. She's never really been one to stick up for me until now, and it feels nice. At the same time, however, I hate it because she's making it seem as though my age actually matters. In the arena it won't, so I don't think it should matter the evening before the arena either!

More than anything though, I am relieved. I'm not sure if I would have been able to cope if he exposed me like that, in all honesty. I mean, I'd have pretended to not care, of course, but I wouldn't have _really_ known what to do with myself. I'm just grateful that the situation never actually came to light.

"Sit down and eat your soup - _both_ of you," Remus grunts, and I do what he says to avoid getting myself into any major trouble.

After all, I don't want to get myself into deep trouble this close to the Games.

* * *

 _Lyndon Meyers, 16, Second Female (District 1)_

I'm finally getting used to the fancy food they serve in the Capitol, and I'm starting to like it. _It's a shame,_ I think, _that I'll be in an arena where I'm starved of anything remotely nutritious come tomorrow._ It still perplexes me, however, when Mercy calls an avox for something sweet to finish our meal with. I never used to have dessert back home, and the concept is still foreign to me after several days in the city.

"What is _that?"_ I ask my mentor, grimacing as the avox brings over a plate of something red and shiny that goes wibble-wobble as she walks.

"It's jelly, Lyndon," Crystal finally says after Italia refuses to answer me. Honestly, I don't see her problem. She thinks she's so superior to me because she was actually born the gender she is right now, and it's honestly so hurtful. None of the other victors are that judgemental and cruel towards me - most of them just treat me the same as all the other tributes!

" _Jelly?"_

"It's made of gelatine and it tastes of strawberries. I won't eat it myself but I know that some people really like it. Take Armani, for example - I think it's the only reason he even comes to the Capitol!" As much as she tries to sell it, I feel as disgusted as she herself clearly does.

"So... it's basically just strawberry flavoured pig fat?"

"In short, yes," she says, laughing as she does so. When she smiles at me, I feel as though I could genuinely fit in with the victors. Barring Italia, that is, but regardless: the others all seem like genuinely nice people, and I could see myself living beside them. I could grow older and meet another amazing girl and have a family with her, and I could raise our children beside the children of Crystal and Pandora - if either of them ever decide to have children, that is.

The point is, I can see myself _belonging,_ and that's a nice idea indeed. As a boy, I never really belonged anywhere, and even though I am officially a girl now there are still some people who call me by male pronouns and remind me of the person who I used to have to try to be. With these people, I could start anew. I could fully be the girl I always have been inside, without people constantly pointing out things that male Lyndon did.

I mean, I'm _sure_ that Pandora and Armani and Crystal and all of the other victors would put Italia in her place if I was one of them.

I see the avox nodding and shaking her head in turn and I bite my lip, realising that I forgot to say whether or not I actually wanted any. "No thank you," I tell her, and she begins to move along.

"If she doesn't want it, I'll have her portion," Armani calls from across the table, making Mercy frown at him.

"Mr Grangel, you are a _victor._ That means you are required to have at least a _basic_ level of table manners," she mutters. Armani just turns and winks at me.

It's a small thing, but it's yet another thing which makes me feel like I could adjust to life in Victors' Village. As I watch them all and interact with them all throughout my final evening in the Capitol, I'm starting to realise just how badly I want to be able to live out my dream life. Dying isn't even a back-up option for me - I _have_ to win... and I will do _anything_ to get my own way.

As the others eat their 'jelly', Crystal and I just sit in silence. Eventually, I get bored of it all and I tell everyone that I'm going to bed early to get some extra sleep. It's not exactly my intention to sleep, but having to stay quiet as everyone else eats is just torturous. I'd rather be in my room, alone, where I can sing and hum as much as I want to, than to be in such an _unsociable_ social situation.

Barely a minute after I've left everyone back in the dining room, I hear my door swing open. "I thought you might want to discuss your options in the arena," Crystal says.

"You're not my mentor," I point out, but she just rolls her eyes.

"No, I'm not, but I think you show good promise. It'd be practically criminal to force you into that arena with just Italia to help you. I mean, sure, she's a great mentor when she feels like it, but I don't exactly get the impression she likes you."

"You're right about the disliking me bit, that's for sure."

"Exactly," she sighs, and I bite my lip. On one hand, it's nice that a victor is actually showing interest in me, but on the other hand it makes me concerned as to just _why_ she is showing an interest in me. As it turns out, I don't have to worry for long because she quickly says, "Look, Lyndon, I think it'd be cruel to send you in there alone without giving you any support whatsoever. I mean, of _course_ I'm going to have to put my own tribute first - that's practically protocol, as you should already know by now - but I'd be willing to help with managing any sponsor funds you get."

"That's nice of you," I say, smiling.

"I suppose. I was going more for 'just' or 'fair' than _'nice',_ but that'll do. Basically, I need you to tell me your gameplan. I won't use it against you, I swear, but I can't send you appropriate sponsor girfts unless you let me know your strengths and weaknesses." I mull it over inside my head for a few moments, unsure on what to do. Yes, it's risky, but what have I got to lose? Italia will probably deliberately send me useless gifts, or perhaps she'll send nothing at all, and that'd leave me dead for sure. The offer is my best chance, since she seems like a trustworthy victor.

I nod. _Too late to change your mind now, Lyndon._ "Okay. So, you want to know my strengths and weaknesses?"

"Well, yes," Crystal says, blinking.

"Right... well, I'm going to need shurikens. They're my best weapon, so if there's enough money to send one or two of those then that'd always be appreciated. Also, I'm good at healing so some medicinal herbs would be a nice thing to receive. Um... I can't swim - make of that what you will! I also..." I go about listing everything she might possibly need to know to help me in there and she nods from the doorway. "Is that all?" she asks, and I smile at her.

"Yes. That's pretty much it."

"Right, well... I'll see what I can do to help you in there then! Have a good night, Lyndon. You've got an early start in the morning."

"I shall do! Goodnight!" I call as she leaves.

Satisfied that I _finally_ seem to have my life in safe hands, I put on my pyjamas and crawl into my bed. The more rest I can get, the more alert I will be in the Bloodbath tomorrow.

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

I don't think twice about knocking on the door - I just do it. It may be early in the morning, but I can't sleep and just lying there isn't working.

Clodagh opens the door just enough for her to slip through to the side I'm on, and I frown. She's in a nightgown, so she clearly didn't intend on seeing any more people tonight. _That should hardly be a surprise, Sebastian,_ I think, because it shouldn't be. In a way, it makes me feel guilty for waking her.

"Hi," I say awkwardly, and she rolls her eyes.

"Hi? You woke me up at goodness _only_ knows what kind of hour in the morning it is... to say _hi?"_ She's not entirely intoxicated, that much is clear, but she's not totally sober either. If she was properly drunk then I would be leaving her alone right now, but she's a little tipsy at most. Besides, the whole reason I came here was for her company, and walking away would defeat the object.

 _"_ Well, it does sound a bit stupid when you put it like that, I'll admit," I joke, but it soon becomes apparent that she's not in a joking mood so I force myself to act serious again. "No, I came to talk to you about something..."

"You do realise I'm not your mentor," she mutters, but her words all blend together and I laugh slightly. Her voice sounds really funny right now, even though she clearly doesn't realise it. It's not nice to laugh at people though, so I stop it. It wouldn't be fair to keep laughing.

"I know. But Amur's not really the caring type. I mean, he _cares,_ but he's very professional. He's not the kind of guy I would go to when I wanted to talk about my problems. Which is what I want to do," I say, aware that I'm making her more and more confused as I go on. Maybe I should have done this _before_ she went to bed for the night.

"Fine," she says, and she pushes the door open a little wider. As she does so, she stumbles and I put my arm out to stop her from falling. "Thanks. I'm a little tired," she explains, though I already knew that, and she smiles slightly. I smile back, glad that she isn't one of those people who get really angry when you interrupt them when they're sleeping. I'm not sure I could have dealt with that on top of everything else that's going on right now in my life.

Like, you know, a Quarter Quell that I'm competing in.

She walks over to her bed and sits cross-legged in the centre. I close the door and sit on the side, my legs dangling over the edge. "Sorry my room's a mess," she says with a faint giggle, "I wasn't exactly expecting any visitors."

"I know. Sorry about that. It's just..." I pause for a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase it in a way that she'll understand even at this time of night. I decide that simple is best in the end. "I'm scared, Clo. I'm not even sure why I even did this in the first place, and now-"

"Your girlfriend," she interjects, putting her hand on my shoulder. "You said she made you. Don't beat yourself up over that, Seb. You did what you thought you had to do to. You're not to blame."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts. I've told you before - I think she sounds like a little piece of shit, and she's not good enough for you. You're too nice to be used by people like her, and you deserve so much better, you really do."

"Okay, okay," I say with a sigh. Minny's threats are still constantly in my mind, and it still terrifies me that she might have actually gone ahead with _that_ some time, even though I know now that it was a way of manipulating me. If I, by some miracle, manage to survive this, then I'm not returning to her. I don't need her always scaring me like that. I'd have Clo and Laigh and all the other victors by my side, and that'd be enough to keep me happy. Landry would be happy too - he's never liked her, and now I can see why. It's just a shame it took me so long to realise it.

"Good. Glad you know that," she says, finally becoming more awake. She pushes her blonde hair out of her face, and she laughs. "No wonder I tripped - I could barely see a thing!" I begin to laugh too but, as she moves her hand back down, I see a row of red and pink lines, all of them in various stages of healing. I can't believe I didn't notice them when she stood by the door before, but I guess I must have been equally tired.

It explains why she wears sweaters usually.

"You-" I begin, but she taps my shoulder again, making me realise that she doesn't want to talk about it.

"You don't want to be a victor, Seb. It's not all it's made out to be."

"But-"

"Just hear me out, okay? I know you probably don't want to die - heck, _I_ don't want you to die, even. You're the closest thing I've found to a friend since I won, and I'd be sad to lose you." I go to open my mouth, to tell her that she's not alone and that there are lots of people who care about her, but she shakes her head. "Laigh doesn't count. She's older than me, it's more like a sibling relationship. It's not the same as someone my own age. Same for all the other victors, except they're all even _older_ than she is! But promise me this, Seb. I've not asked anything of you so far, and you'll never have to hear me ask anything of you again." Tears start to run down her cheeks, and I frown. I get the feeling that she isn't quite aware of most of the stuff she is saying, but I ignore that fact. She's not saying anything hateful, so there's no point in me leaving the room just because she's talking more than usual.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, just-" She looks me straight in the eye, and I know it's serious before she even says it out loud. "If it comes down to it in there, promise me you'll die. And don't think I mean that I want for you to go, because you know that I don't. But winning? It's not worth it, Seb. It's not worth it. And in that arena you're going to want to live even more than ever, but don't let that impulse take control of you. Once you're out of there, they've got full control of you. You can't do what you want to in case the Capitol doesn't like it, and you're under their spell until the day you die. You're trapped."

"You're still you thou-"

"I'm me. But I'm not the same me. You saw me on the screens last year - you must have! I'm a totally different girl now to how I was then. They say that I'm the victor, but I think they're wrong about that. The ones who really win are the ones who die. _They_ never have to change, never become a pawn like we all are, and _they'll_ never have to face the families of the ones they killed. I did that on my Victory Tour, and it ruined me. Oh, gosh, Seb, just promise me that you won't do this to yourself. Find a chance to die quickly, if it comes, and just take it. I wish I did."

"I will," I say, and I pull her into a hug. She hugs me back, but I'm not smiling. No - I'm crying because I just lied to one of the few people I can still trust, and I'm not sure she'll forgive me when- _if_ I do return. "Look, I... I wanted to ask if I could stay here a little while. That's why I came. I'm terrified about tomorrow, Clo, and I can't sleep. I mean, I get if you're tired, but if you don't mind... I'd quite like to talk for a bit. Calm my nerves, I guess."

"Sure," she says, pulling away from me and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I mean, it's probably the last chance we'll ever get to have a proper conversation, so..."

"Thanks," I whisper, and she smiles a little. I don't want to die in there, and I _won't_ die in there. She says she doesn't want me to live, but there's nothing she can do about it if I _do_ live. She says it's for my own good, but I can't go to Heaven and be happy anyway if she's on my conscience. I'd be no worse off in Panem, in the end.

She's a mess as it is, and I don't want to be the one to make her any worse. She's my _friend,_ I can't just abandon her. I want to help her be okay again, and I can't do that if I'm _dead..._


	34. Fifth Morning

_Scintillaea Ardor, 15, Second Female (District 5)_

The first thing that comes into my head when I wake is, _Today's the day you're going to die, Scin._ It makes me feel like crying, because I'm really not ready for my life to end. I mean, I doubt I ever would be ready, but at age fifteen it's just all a little too much to bear. There's so much left for me to show the world, and I'll never get the chance. I'll never grow old, I'll never find someone who is perfect for me, I'll never have the chance to have children...

Thinking about all the chances I'll never get makes me go from just _feeling_ like crying to having streams of tears rolling down my face. I mean, of _course_ it is fate, and fate is always unavoidable, but that doesn't mean that it isn't cruel.

I want to go for a walk, clear my head, but I can't manage to bring myself out from under the duvet. If another tribute has the same idea as me then leaving this room would mean facing them, and I don't want to face another tribute today. I don't want to have to interact with anybody else who is going to have to die alongside me - not even _Aestus,_ and he is my friend.

Instead, I hide fully beneath the covers and try to drown myself in my own tears. _It'd be a nicer way to go than decapitation,_ I think, but then I realise that my teardrops just flow straight through the sheets and it makes me cry even more. There's no escaping what's going to happen in the arena, not for me.

I stay that way, tangled up in my sheets, until Abbi comes to fetch me. "Oh, gosh, Scin," she mutters, tearing the sheets from me and wrapping me in a hug. I hug her back a little too tightly, my tears making the shoulder of her black top look even blacker. "Scin, you've got to get ready now," she says eventually, and I pull away from her and nod.

"Okay," I manage to squeak, though that's _all_ I manage to get out in all of my panic.

"Now, now, you needn't worry. You're likely going to die, bu-"

"Definitely," I manage to correct her.

"No, Scin, _likely._ Please don't rule yourself out yet. But you're doing the same as what so many children do every year when you go into that arena. I _certainly_ didn't expect to get out of there alive, but I managed it somehow. You could still do the same - remember that when you're crying and thinking everything you do is futile." I nod, trying to seem strong, and she seems to believe it. "Okay then. Now get yourself a shower - I'd advise using the lemon body wash and the grapefruit shampoo, their scents seem to last for the longest - and then come and get yourself a light breakfast. You can't be going into the arena on an empty stomach, even if you don't want to have a full portion for fear of heaving. I was exactly the same..." I nod at her gratefully, and I slowly make my way to my bathroom.

 _Lemon body, grapefruit hair. Lemon body, grapefruit hair. Lemon body, grapefruit hair._ I have to keep going over what she told me, because I don't want to forget it. Maybe if I don't smell totally disgusting then I might manage to imagine that I'm not in the arena if I ever make it to the point where I can let myself sleep.

I remember it, but I manage to get the shampoo in my eyes and it _stings._ It makes me scream, and Abbi comes rushing back. "Oh, Scin," she says, "what are we going to do with you?"

It's a question I don't know the answer to.

She passes me a fluffy towel, clearly fearful that I might manage to harm myself if I try to dry myself with all the Capitol technology, and I thank her for it. "No problem," she says, "it's just because of your nerves. Believe it or not, I found that my own nerves settled once I was in the arena. Just stop allowing yourself to worry so much."

She passes me some comfortable clothes, and I frown at her in confusion. "You'll get the arena clothes in a few hours' time," she explains, and I nod. It makes sense that they don't want us to potentially spill breakfast foods all over the outfits we'll be wearing onscreen.

I put on the t-shirt and sweatpants and tie back my hair. _This is it,_ I think as I exit my room. _I'll never be coming back here again._

The thought terrifies me, and I can't even bring myself to look back at the place that has been my safe haven for the past few days as I leave.

* * *

 _Stevie Volt, 17, First Male (District 5)_

Everyone is silent at breakfast. Everyone, that is, except Nomi. The girl needs to learn to shut up and stop being so optimistic, because the rest of us all want some time to mourn ourselves. But no, she wants to talk and our escort is perfectly happy to have a conversation with her.

I have to come to the realisation that I'm not going to have any time to be alone with my thoughts before I die. It's so fucking frustrating, because that's all I want right now. I couldn't care less about the fancy foods and the avoxes who wait on us hand and foot, I just want time to accept my fate. I've been putting it off for too long now, just cruising through my time in the Capitol and flirting with my stylist, but now I just want to be by myself, and it's hard to pretend that I'm alone when people all around me are talking.

Eventually, Aggie goes quiet. After a glorious moment or two of silence, she says, "Come with me, Nomi. I think you and I need a word."

The time when Nomi is gone from earshot is the time I needed to gather my thoughts. I know I'm going to die, and I've accepted that now. What I can't accept, however, is how I'm going to die. I don't want some random child to pick up some glorified piece of silver and thrust it through my torso. I want to die calmly, and I know for a fact that the Capitol aren't going to let me.

It's not long before a hysterical Nomi returns to the room, her tears falling everywhere. "Tell me it's a joke, Sofee," she cries to her mentor. "Tell me it's some twisted joke that you're all playing on me."

"What do you think is a joke, Nomi?" she asks, her face full of concern for the little girl.

"That I'm g- going to die! I'm not ready to die, Sofee! I _can't_ die, I've got too much left to do in my life!"

Sofee closes her eyes, shakes her head, and whispers, "I'm so sorry, Nomi. I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn't listen."

Nomi's sadness suddenly turns to anger, her face turning bright red. "So you knew. You _knew."_

 _"_ I tried to tell you, but yo-"

"Don't even talk to me!" she screams, and she leaves the room. As crazy as it sounds though, I don't feel the slightest bit sorry for her. No - I feel glad that she is gone from the room, and that she is gone from my life. She's an annoyance, and that's all she is. I mean, _of course_ it is sad that she has to die so young, but I'd rather her lose her life than some of the nicer tributes.

I can only take three spoons of my cereal before I feel like I'm going to throw up. Knowing about your death really takes away your appetite, I must say. I don't bother trying a fourth spoon just to see if I can somehow stomach it, I just grab a bottle of water and sit in the living area. There won't be a sofa in the arena, so I may as well make myself comfortable for one last time. It can be a precious memory for me, I suppose.

It seems like no time at all before Aggie is rounding us all up and forcing us into the elevator. "Now," she says, "good luck to you all. I shall be watching, looking out for you. I truly do believe I am in the elevator with District Five's next victor." _You're clearly not referring to Nomi,_ I think sarcastically, glancing at the twelve-year-old who is still crying.

 _Stop looking at them,_ I have to remind myself. These other tributes are my fellows no longer - they are my _enemies,_ and the sooner I forget about them, the longer I might be able to survive in there.


	35. Games Preparation

_Giana Acacia, 14, Third Female (District 7)_

We're all forced onto hovercrafts, 12 people in each, and it's just my luck that I'm seated next to Azalea. Most people would be annoyed if they were in my situation, of course, but I'm _glad._ It means that, when the lady with the tracker comes by me, I have an excuse to grab onto her hand.

"Sorry, miss," I say, "but I have a slight fear of needles. I need my sister for support." Azalea's face lights up when I gently hold her hand, and she clearly thinks that I'm being genuine for once. I'm not sure _why_ that idea would ever even cross her mind, but I soon put her in her place when I scrape my fingernails across her palm as I let go. It's honestly the only reason I grabbed her in the first place, but her neverending naïvité always fascinates me to watch.

Of course, I _say_ 'neverending', but that shall all end today. She's going to die in the Bloodbath for sure. She's too stupid to not run in towards the cornucopia, and she's too clumsy to make her way out of the battlefield without getting stabbed or speared or decapitated or _something_ along those lines. And if the worst comes to the worst and she somehow manages to defy all those odds, then I'll do the dirty work myself. It can't be _that_ hard to kill somebody... right?

I shake my head, getting rid of the thought. I need to be calm when I go into the arena, not panicking over how hard it will be to kill the other tributes!

Throughout the journey, our entire hovercraft is silent. It's actually a lot more bumpy in the air than I thought it would be - I guess it's that 'turbulence' thing they tried to explain to us in school once. When we land, I'm reluctant to get off but I know that I have to so I shuffle along behind Azalea regardless.

Yes, I'm probably going to die soon, but I'd rather it not be by getting trodden on by a stampede of tributes as I refuse to leave the 'safety' of the hovercraft.

* * *

 _Petra Silverwood, 17, First Female (District 2)_

Once I'm out of the hovercraft, my stylist and an avox meet me and I'm led through a series of underground chambers. In all honesty, I don't exactly feel the safest walking though such dark corridors without even a knife on my person, but I can't complain to them because then I'd just look scared and desperate, and I'm neither.

Well, unless being desperate to win this thing counts in that bracket - then I'd be the most desperate of all! Except... I suppose it isn't exactly desperation, because I know that my victory is going to happen. It's _impossible_ for these Games to end any other way.

I get a weird look from my stylist when I fidget around my neck. When I grab my dog tag in my hand, I feel safe again. I wouldn't want to go into the arena without it - it reminds me where I came from.

"Petra Silverwood, zero-two-five-eight-seven," I whisper, nodding. I memorised it when I was a new trainee, and I have never once forgotten it since. It's all I am for now, but soon I'll be something _special._ I can barely wait for them to call my name and announce me as victor, especially considering that I'll have sure earned it during my time in the arena. There's no doubt I'll win - I'm the best in District 2, and everybody knows that District 2 is the best district when it comes to the Hunger Games. All I have to do is beat my fellow competitors - _easy._

The walk to my waiting room seems to take forever, and there are only numbers on the doors so I can't even figure out who I'm next to as I pass the rooms. It would have made it all worthwhile if I managed to get some sort of details on my neighbouring tributes, but there's no such luck for me today.

 _Relax,_ I think, _you'll get plenty enough time to analyse everybody's positions when you're in the arena itself. Sixty seconds is long enough to weigh up your strongest opponents and where they are standing. You'll be fine._ And I know it will be fine, because I've put all my effort into this for the past few years of my life. All those times that people have called me obsessive, all the people who have doubted me... I'll prove them wrong when I win this thing. They were all wrong to ever think I was incapable, or that I took training too seriously.

This is my time to shine, and I'm going to make the most of it while it's here.

* * *

 _Pixel Circuit, 17, First Female (District 3)_

"Pixel? Pixel? I've got your outfit for you... _PIXEL, LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE, YOU NEED TO GET CHANGED!"_

"Uh? What? Oh..." I say, looking down at the bags my stylist has in his hands. "Is that what I'm wearing?"

"Yes, it is. But if you actually bothered to listen to me then you would already know that," he sighs, clearly frustrated with me.

"Sorry. I was daydreaming."

"Can't do that in the arena, Pixel. It'll lead to your death."

"Right," I say, nervously. Honestly? I've been trying not to think about my upcoming death, but I suppose I can't do that any longer. I've just got to man up and accept my fate.

Sighing, I take the clothes out of their bags and hide around the corner to put them on. There's a sleeveless, dark grey piece of nylon which I put on first, and my exposed legs, arms, and upper back make me feel really cold. In a dark orange, fleece-like material, there are a pair of very short shorts which I'm not sure will cover my rear, and in matching material there is a loose fitting crop top. It has rather short sleeves, but I'm glad that there's going to be anything covering up my shoulders at all.

When I put them on, I'm glad to discover that the shorts are slightly longer than I thought that they would be, and that they somehow cover even the very top of my legs. Regardless, they'll make me look very unsightly if I'm still alive by the time that the hair on my legs grows back as ugly stubble.

Then again, I suppose that I'd be so covered in filth by then that it would be impossible to notice.

I lace up a pair of dark grey, cotton pumps, confused as to why they are so oversized and there are no socks for me to wear. _Maybe my stylist forgot to pass them me,_ I think hopefully, though I know that that's probably not the case.

In the bottom of the bag I find another dark grey item, and it looks waterproof so I'm relieved. But then when I put it on, I discover that it has no hood, zip, or pockets, and it's effectively just a sheet of material with some sleeves attatched. It'll keep my back dry, sure, but my head, my chest, and my legs are still unprotected. It actually seems pretty pointless, considering that it doesn't even conceal the orange of my shorts.

Annoyed at the outfit I'm standing in, I make my way back to my stylist. _Hopefully this is all a joke and he has my genuine outfit somewhere else..._

* * *

 _Pixey Platt, 12, Third Female (District 3)_

I return to my stylist, sad that the orange looks so dull. It should be brighter and happier so that we can all be happy too! Of course, I know that it would be _hard_ to be jolly during a death match, but it's certainly not _impossible._ Some of the victors look happy when they come home, after all.

"We were all under strict instructions to give you all these last," she says, holding out a thick, brown cardigan. I hold it in my hands and it feels really soft. It makes me smile, it can act like a blanket for me.

She takes off my coat and helps me put on the cardigan. It begins to button halfway down my stomach, and it comes to halfway down my thighs, and it makes me just a little but less cold. Still, I'm confused as to why there is nothing for our legs and our heads, and why our shoes could easily be soaked through. They're actually really uncomfortable, and I wish there were socks.

I sit on the floor and rub my legs, trying to warm them by friction. That's when Rowena passes me a pair of stockings in the same thick, brown wool as the cardigan, and I leap up and hug her.

"Hey, hey! Hugging isn't in a stylist's job description, you know!" she laughs, and I giggle back at her. Sure, I'm going to likely be an early death, but at least I can die comfortable. I let go of her and slip them over my feet, discovering that they come over my knee and nearly reach the cardigan. What once seemed like a cruelly cold arena outfit now seems like it could possibly be one of the nicest ones in recent times.

Then, there is silence. After a minute or so, Rowena offers to re-braid my hair and I let her. It feels soothing, like when my father sometimes styled my hair back home. She is gentle and I don't feel it tug in the slightest, and when she is finished she attatches an orange ribbon and turns me around to face her.

"Look, Pixey. In there, you're going to see things that are horrible. You're going to hate it, okay? And you'll probably not make it out of there alive. But remember that, no matter what happens, I'll always remember you. You're my first tribute, and you're been an utter delight. I couldn't have asked for anybody better to style in my first year. And I'm going to miss you, I really am..." She wraps her arms around me one final time before the announcement comes, telling all tributes to get into the tubes. "I'll be praying for you," she tells me as I walk away from her.

Almost the second I step inside, the doors close on me and I feel as though I'm going to suffocate from the lack of air. But then I think of all the pixies who could be waiting for me inside the arena, and it calms me. I'm going to be okay, I know I am. The pixies shall protect me...


	36. Launch

_Monique Zale, 18, First Female (District 4)_

As the glass walls of my tube seem to vanish into the ground, I am twisted round and around until I'm slightly dizzy. When it stops, I can see the golden cornucopia straight ahead, and all us tributes are in a semi-circle right in front of it. I barely get any time to register anything other than that before the countdown starts.

 _60..._

I look either side of me to determine who I'm in between. It looks to be two younger tributes, one boy and one girl. The girl wears a cream top, and the boy wears a black top. I'm not sure what district each colour represents yet, but I can tell that each colour represents a district. I'm in an olive green top, and I can't help but feel like I'm one of the lucky ones. There's a forest in the distance, and it should help me blend in much more than some of the other colours would.

 _59..._

 _58..._

 _Like the pink that Glair is in,_ I think as I spot one of my allies. He's about six podiums to my right, and he looks really focused on the cornucopia. I can't help but worry that the bright colour - that Mason will also inevitably be in - will make us a bit too noticeable.

I guess I'll just have to get them to wear their cardigans at all times.

* * *

 _Delta Joule, 17, First Female (District 5)_

 _57..._

The first of my allies that I can find is Seb. Though the situation I'm in right now is no laughing matter, I can't help but chuckle at his outfit. His cardigan is undone so I can see his shorts and crop top clearly, and he looks absolutely _ridiculous._ No boy should wear stockings like that... _ever._

 _56..._

He spots me, and I quickly turn my head to my left and then stare straight back at him. He nods at me, clearly understanding what I mean. In turn, he gestures to someone in pink about ten podiums up from me. _Elle,_ I realise. I can't see Ally's podium though, and neither can they from the looks of it, so we'll just have to hope that she sees the direction that one of us runs in.

 _55..._

 _54..._

That is, the forest behind me. My own black top and the green outfits of District 4 should blend in quite nicely. Of course, Elle's going to be at a disadvantage, but we'll just have to make sure to cover up all her pink clothing when we're sleeping. It seems a little unfair, really, that some of us have colours that make it so much easier to stay hidden than others, but I suppose that nothing about the Hunger Games is fair. It's all just for the entertainment of the 'greats' in our country, and there's nothing that any of us can do about that.

We just have to do our best and pray that it's enough.

* * *

 _Barley Maze, 16, Second Male (District 9)_

 _53..._

I can practically feel my death creeping up on me. All the Career tributes - and some others, too - look bloodthirsty and eager, and I'm still feeling unprepared and absolutely terrified.

 _52..._

 _51..._

It's impossible for me to _not_ look at all the weapons and wonder which one will be the one to end my life. _Maybe it won't be a weapon at all,_ pops into my head, and I have to force it back out again. I don't even want to imagine that scenario. No - I've learned to adjust to the fact that some sort of blade will probably end my life, but I don't think I could _ever_ accept dying due to another tribute's bare hands.

 _50..._

Regardless, I know that this is the end. I'm almost certain that my death site is within my sight right now, and I'm surprisingly fine with that. Life is life, and these are the cards I have been dealt. Unfortunate, yes, but true. I get exhausted too quickly to be able to run far enough away from here to survive another day, so there's no other real option for me than to die here, in front of the cornucopia.

I'm hoping that my death will be quick and painless, though I know that is unlikely. What I want most, though, is for my passing to play on my assassin's conscience. I don't want them to just pretend they never killed me - I want them to feel regret for ending my life, or at least pity for me. I want to know that they feel some emotion towards it all, but I suppose that I'll never be able to find that out from beyond the grave.

* * *

 _Nomi Spark, 12, Third Female (District 5)_

 _49..._

I can't stop shaking. Ever since I found out that this is all real, that there's _no_ _way_ it could ever be faked as live television, I've been plain petrified, and now I'm here - in the actual arena - and it's so much worse than ever before.

 _48..._

 _47..._

 _46..._

In an attempt to steady my nerves, I grip tightly on to the bottom of my cardigan. Needless to say, it doesn't work. In fact, all it does is make my palms even sweatier than they already were.

 _45..._

That's beside the point though. The point is: I'm going to be dead soon, and I'm struggling to come to terms with that fact. I mean, I know that the victor doesn't die, but now that I know that the tributes really do kill one another, I'm not sure I'll be able to attack anybody. And if I can't manage to attack anybody, then they'll attack me and my life will be over in the blink of an eye. It's absolutely _horrible,_ and I can't believe that the Capitol actually make children do this. I'm not even a teenager yet, and yet I'm in a death match with a bunch of trained eighteen-year-olds? It's all absolutely absurd, and I'm really not sure if I'll even make it to the start line.

* * *

 _Kozuki Shamiko, 15, Second Female (District 4)_

 _44..._

 _I have to do this,_ I think as I look around at the other tributes. _I can't leave little Ko all on his own in a world as dangerous as Panem is._

You see, that's my issue. On paper, I've got a lot less to lose than everybody else in this arena, but in reality I've got a whole lot more. My adoptive brother, for one, is someone I can't bear to leave behind just to float off to Heaven. I'm more responsible than that, and I want the chance to prove it.

 _43..._

 _42..._

 _41..._

I look around for weapons, trying to find something- _anything_ that looks remotely like something I'm capable of using. I can't see anything from here, but who knows? Maybe I'll find something when I get nearer to the cornucopia after the Hunger Games officially start.

 _40..._

Except, is it really worth risking my life right at the start? I'm not the kind of girl who would appeal to sponsors, and that means that my chances of survival are already dramatically decreased. It doesn't seem fair in the slightest that _my_ life is in the hands of some drunken men in the Capitol, but that's just the way Panem works. Nothing is fair - _nothing_ at all.

* * *

 _Oliver Hawkins, 18, First Male (District 7)_

 _39..._

No amount of wishing can make this go away. I've been put in here to die... and die I shall. There's no point in be even trying to do anything else, because I know it won't happen. The outcome for me is always death, and that's as happy as it gets for me - the certainty.

 _38..._

 _37..._

As each second goes by, the more about home I seem to miss. Margret was just at the back of my mind twenty seconds ago, but now she's pretty much all I'm thinking of. She's been like a mother to me, and what have I given her back? A terrifying death and probably a lot of tears. It doesn't seem fair.

 _36..._

I feel guilty, though I know I shouldn't. I hardly _asked_ to be a tribute, did I? No. So I need to stop thinking that it's all my fault, because it's not.

 _35..._

I can't help it though. Everything is just too much for me right now.

 _34..._

Maybe it'll be better for everyone once I'm dead...

* * *

 _Taylor Lovelace, 12, Third Female (District 8)_

 _33..._

 _32..._

 _31..._

I can't believe that I'm even in this situation. My mother, presumed dead for so long, is alive. And me, always so full of life, is about to die. I would say that it's ironic, but the word seems too friendly.

 _30..._

 _29..._

All around me, there are tributes. Most of them are stronger than me, fiercer than me, braver than me. Most of all, they want this more than me. There's nothing really left for me back in District 8 - I found the only woman who matters in the Capitol, and I'm never going to see her again no matter what. If they found out that she is my mother, they'll probably kill her.

 _28..._

Maybe she'll be better off when I'm dead. There'll be no more risk of people finding out our connection, no danger of them punishing her for something that was beyond her control. She didn't exactly want me to be sent to my death - she's my mother, she loves me too much for that.

 _And she always will, no matter what,_ I think, a tear in my eye. I'll always be in her heart, and I'll be looking down on her from Heaven until the day that she dies.

* * *

 _Florian Cowbell, 16, Second Male (District 10)_

 _27..._

 _26..._

Bloody pieces of flesh hit my left arm as the trembling girl to my left somehow manages to trip off the front of her podium. I grimace - the feeling of the tiny pieces of her on my jacket is horrible.

 _25..._

 _24..._

 _23..._

In fact, it's starting to make me feel physically sick. _Hold it in, Florian,_ I remind myself. _You never know if vomit could manage to trigger your own bombs._ The very fact that I'm surrounded by live explosive devices makes me shudder. The sooner they detonate, the sooner I'll be able to breathe again.

 _22..._

Of course, then I'll have to contend with the flying weapons. I sigh - this is useless. I'm clearly going to end up as dead as that little girl is in a few minutes' time. I couldn't even make it on the train without tripping over, for goodness' sake - I have no chance whatsoever! None at all!

* * *

 _Peridott Sims, 14, Third Male (District 1)_

 _21..._

I'm actually terrified right now. Yes, I can throw darts, but I saw what happened to that girl and I know that the same could easily happen to _any_ of us. I'm not out of the danger zone until... well, _ever._ Even victors are at the mercy of the Capitol, but I seriously doubt I'll ever make it that far.

 _20..._

No, my focus for now is just on making it out of the Bloodbath alive. With this many tributes, it's going to prove quite difficult. Sure, it'd be safer to run away from all the action, but I need supplies. I'm going to have to risk my life to save my life later on. Life's a funny thing sometimes, it really is.

 _19..._

 _18..._

Or maybe saying that _death_ 's a funny thing would be more appropriate right now. After all, I am in a petrifying death match.

 _17..._

 _16..._

 _15..._

I wonder how long people back home will miss me for. Will it take years to fill the gap in my father's heart, or just days? I long for it to be the former, but humans have a strange way of somehow recovering quickly.

 _14..._

I wonder if my mother will even realise I'm gone at all. Her life isn't centred around my brother and I at all, and I doubt she'll care much that I'm gone. She'll probably be more annoyed at me not bringing pride to the family than she will feel sad about my death.

It's a sad reality, but it's mine. Now, though, I've got to push away any thoughts of home. It's too near to the end of the countdown now to not put my complete focus in the arena.

* * *

 _Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)_

 _13..._

I look absolutely ridiculous. And yes, I suppose that it shouldn't be of great concern to me when I'm competing in the Hunger Games, but it really is. How am I supposed to look terrifying for sponsors when I'm in a pink crop top?

 _12..._

 _11..._

I can't. It's just not possible. I look like a joke rather than a serious competitor, and I'm not happy about it in the slightest. This year was supposed to be my chance to shine, and yet I look like a man in drag.

Considering that District 2 has always been the most loyal district, I'm shocked that they've put us in the least practical colour. Pink can't pass as leaves or water, it'll always stand out.

 _10..._

It's really not practical _in the slightest._ Glair and I are going to look ridiculous compared to Monique, Tiara, and Rhoena. Of course, I'll beat them all in the end so it'll all become irrelevant, but it's annoying me for now.

 _9..._

Talking of my allies... I still can't believe that they think they stand a chance. I scored 11, nobody else managed to top that. It's inevitable that I'm going to win this thing.

 _8..._

 _7..._

 _6..._

What's funniest of all, though, is that _Petra_ thinks she stands a chance. I mean, sure, she's got the intimidation game down to a T, but that's not the game we have to play anymore. Scary looks aren't going to help her win in a battle to the death. Skill would, of course, but I'm yet to see any of _that_ coming from her.

No - as it is, my path to victory is a clear one... and I'm fully intending on keeping it that way.

* * *

 _Charity Cliff, 16, Second Female (District 12)_

 _5..._

It's finally here... _it'_ _s_ _finally_ _here!_ For so long, I've dreamt about the day I get to die... and now it has arrived, and I couldn't be happier. I'm going to be out of my father's life forever now, and his drinking can affect me no longer.

 _4..._

 _3..._

I can practically sense the Grim Reaper coming to escort me already, and I've never found anything nicer. Some people are scared of death, yes, but for me it's my escape. Being reaped is hands down the best thing that has _ever_ happened to me.

 _2..._

I'm getting impatient now - I just want to die already. There's no point in putting it off any longer - I just want to be free.

 _1..._

I take a deep breath and let myself smile. This is it now, and I'm prepared for it.

 _"Let the three-hundred-and-seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"_

Then... silence. Nobody moves for a moment or so, all of us unsure of what to do. All of us except me, of course. I'm just going to stay on my podium and wait for whatever comes my way.

 _ **72- Nomi Spark, D5f3 - ARENA**_


	37. Bloodbath

_Azalea Acacia, 16, Second Female (District 7)_

The middle District 1 boy makes the first move, running straight into the middle and grabbing a weapon. The girl who ran in after him was not so lucky as to get out of the danger zone with her life. Everyone is just silent for a moment, likely all as shocked as I am with the reality of the situation, but when the Careers make a move towards the centre, that's when some of the tributes run.

I say _some_ of us, because most of us are still too scared to move from our podiums.

I see a District 12 girl calmly sit down on her podium, looking at complete ease. She must be stupid, because she's not going to be able to stand up and run in time if a flying weapon comes her way.

I also see Mason and Monique nodding at one another, and it concerns me. They're too casual right now for my liking, and they're too cunning for this to end well.

Mason charges in one direction and Monique in the other, and I see the two cocky boys from District 10 and District 12 fall to the ground almost in perfect synchronisation. The two Careers' smiles as they do so send shivers down my spine.

Then, I gasp, feeling suddenly breathless and pained. Looking down at myself, I see a shining spear and I know that this is it: I'm going to die now. Right here, I'm going to lose my life.

Everything I ever did seems so worthless now. All those years chasing after Tyler, they all come to... nothing. He'll never notice me now. Even if he was watching me and admiring my beauty, he can't date a dead girl. My life has been worthless, hasn't it? I mean, what good have I done? What positive impact have I made on people's lives?

Nothing, that's what. Nothing at all.

Before I die, I do one last thing. I look back up to face my killer.

The icy glare comes from the one pair of eyes I had so hoped wouldn't be facing me. Call me stupid, but I prayed that she would never stoop that low.

I never thought my own sister could thrust a spear through my body like that.

* * *

 _Deliah Saunders, 14, Third Female (District 6)_

All around me, there is bloodshed, but I stay uninvolved. Hopefully if I don't attack them then I can get away with my life. It's a nice thought, _getting away from the Bloodbath with my life._

It takes a vulnerable, small boy from District 1 falling to the ground right beside me to make me realise the enormity of the situation I'm in. This is do or die, and I choose 'do'. I take from my pocket a weapon I found a few minutes ago.

Before me, there is a tribute just looking at the random weapons on the floor. I can't tell who he is from here, but I know that it is my chance to eliminate my competition whilst his back is turned. I gulp. _Come on, Deliah, what are you waiting for?_

I run towards the boy, angry, and my knife is at the ready and poised to enter his body. But then he turns. And he gasps. And he throws his own knife at me.

 _I didn't realise he had picked up any of the weapons..._

Platinum blinks a few times, looking as though he is fighting back tears, and then he walks away. The bastard can't even look at me as I die, withering from the pain that _he_ created.

 _But maybe I won't die,_ I naïvely think. Then again, isn't every thought likely to be a stupid one in the arena?

All I know is that I want to get through this - I _can_ get through this. There may be a knife in my stomach, but for now I'm still breathing.

* * *

 _Platinum Victorian, 17, First Male (District 1)_

I can't dwell on my kills - I just have to keep going. Besides, I suppose I owe them a few peaceful final moments after I rip the rest of their lives - their entire futures - away from them. I'm just as tense as everybody else, and I hate it. I don't feel like a prepared Career now I'm here in the arena. I feel more timid and _smaller._

Well, I guess I don't feel like _everybody_ else. There is one girl - Chastity or something, she's District 12 - who is unaffected by this all, and she is just sitting peacefully on her podium as though her life isn't in grave danger. She just looks strangely serene, not bothered in the slightest by what is going on around her. She's the least scared person here from the looks of it, and yet she is making herself the most vulnerable.

When the sword enters her abdomen, she just closes her eyes. Then, she starts to smile - I even think I hear the ghost of a giggle. Only when she falls to the floor, looking so peaceful and happy, do I realise: _this is what she wanted._

I can't believe I never saw it before. Until now, she's been so depressed and melancholy, and now it seems obvious. It should have been that obvious all along. That girl has been trapped her entire life, and now she is free.

In a strange and twisted way, it makes me feel jealous. Jealous that she is out of this place? Maybe. Jealous of her certainty and her courage?

 _Definitely._

The little District 6 girl who I stabbed what must be less than a minute ago stops breathing at last, the rise and fall of her chest finally ceasing to happen at all. I see Arminta give the youngest District 12 girl a gruesome end, and it makes me lose my focus and just grimace. I'm all for the Hunger Games, but that was just a bit _too_ violent, especially considering how young Arminta herself is.

It's only when I feel a sharp pain in my chest that I realise just how open I had left myself for attack. I look down and see a spear protuding from my body. I'm bleeding quite a lot, and I don't think I'll be able to make it.

I begin to sob. This isn't what I had planned, not in the slightest. But there are no sponsor gifts during the Bloodbath, so I know that I am already gone.

My vision is turning blurry and I'm going dizzy, but I still manage to muster the strength to look and see who my killer is. Tiara stands before me, a large and manic grin across her face. The girl is a homicidal mess, and in a weird way, I find myself pitying her. I don't pity her for long though, because soon I feel myself go blind. And moments after that, I can't feel anything at all.

* * *

 _Leone Strauss, 16, Second Male (District 6)_

Now I'm in the cornucopia, I should be safe. But there are weapons all around me, and they're _enticing._

Through the entrance, I see so many people falling to the floor. A boy from District 9, followed by a girl from the same district who I remember as being annoying. The little boys from District 5 and District 6 and the oldest boy from District 12 follow them on their journey to the next world.

As the motherly girl is murdered by a District 2 boy, my bloodlust begins to rage inside of me. I try so hard to stop myself, but with all this death surrounding me, I

 _just_

 _can't_

 _resist_

any longer, and I remove the spiked baton from the Cornucopia wall. The monster in me takes over my whole self, and I let it. There's no use trying to stop myself in the arena, because I'm going to go insane and end up like this anyway if I restrain myself.

Slowly, I walk over to a shivering tribute who is seemingly paralysed with fear. The District 7 boy was looking at the walls of weapons until I approached him. Now, his eyes are wide and his bottom lip trembles. I take it all in, the beauty of his terror, and I lift the baton high above my own head before bringing it down on his skull.

Flesh tears from his face as I pull away the bloody baton, and I gently shake it to remove the best of it. I don't want to get this boy's eyeball all over my next victim, do I?

As I look around for my next kill, I see two District 4 girls kill two little girls. Though the older one looks like she is doing it for fun, the younger one looks like her actions are forced and despised by herself. Maybe she thinks getting at least one kill is a necessity. It seems like a necessity to me. A sponsor would have to be pretty dumb to sponsor someone useless.

There is a boy just sorting through electrical components just twenty metres to my left, and I run towards him. I lift my weapon again, and bring it down on the back of his skull before he even notices I'm behind him.

Another boy, who is still covered in the flesh of the girl who blew herself up, is running slowly towards the woods with a limp, and I grin. I can outrun him, even with a heavy killing tool in my hands. I drag it behind me, its spikes tearing up the ground as I practically sprint in his direction. I lift the baton and repeatedly bring it down on the back of his skull. This time, it's rather messy because he's moving rather than still, but it still kills him. His skull is still in tens - maybe even hundreds - of tiny pieces, and his brain and flesh is now another addition to the flesh and the moist, soft earth that already adorned my precious weapon. As I look around for other tributes, all I can think is one thing.

 _Who's next?_

* * *

 _Opal Mahogany, 13, Third Female (District 1)_

Tears begin to stream down the youngest boy from District 8's face. "I killed her. _I KILLED HER!"_ he cries, and I can't help but feel sorry for him.

See, all he did was trip over a stone, but the knife in his hand landed in the sweet girl from District 3's back as he fell forwards. She was just in an unlucky place to be crouching, that's all. Her scream was piercing as the knife entered her, and so is his now. I would kill him - I could do it very easily with the state he is in - but instead, I move away. I may be a Career, but I'm not a monster.

Unfortunately, the same can't be said for the boy from District 6 - his name is Leone, I think - and he clubs another tribute. This time, it is a little District 11 girl, and his eyes have a manic glint in them as he does so.

Honestly? He seems like a caveman, some old kind of uncivilised human being. He's inhumane, and I would be lying if I claimed that I wasn't a little bit frightened of him. _Anybody_ would be lying if they claimed to not be at least slightly scared of him.

The girl who Tiara hung around with a lot in the Capitol - Rhoena - puts a sword through a District 7 boy's stomach, and his death is pretty immediate. Tiara appears behind her and pats her on the back, offering her congratulations. Rhoena does the same to Tiara, and the two go and join Mason, Monique, and Glair in the cornucopia.

My ally isn't within sight, so I decide to go and look for him. As I reach the back of the cornucopia though, I see the youngest District 11 boy shaking on the floor. He sees me and tried to shuffle backwards, but he hits the cornucopia wall.

 _This is my chance to get sponsors to support me,_ I think, and I throw my javelin at him. It hits his temple, and he slumps: my first kill. Aurore would be jealous.

I'm about to continue searching for my alliance when a cannon sounds. I listen carefully, counting as they sound. Twenty-five cannons signal twenty-five deaths. That means that over a third of us are gone already.

As I look around the field of bloody corpses, I realise that I became partially responsible for the massacre when I killed that boy just, and it makes me feel all warm inside. I've never had such a big achievement before, but now I'm practically radiating my pride.

 _ **71- Sylvie Ryder, D10f2 - Charming Heartsong**_

 _ **70- Vernon Keld, D10m1 - Mason Slate**_

 _ **69- Fiyero Brulé, D12m2 - Monique Zale**_

 _ **68- Azalea Acacia, D7f2 - Giana Acacia**_

 _ **67- Peridott Sims, D1m3 - Castor Aconite**_

 _ **66- Charity Cliff, D12f2 - Petra Silverwood**_

 _ **65- Deliah Saunders, D6f3 - Platinum Victorian**_

 _ **64- Persimmon Tilden, D12f3 - Arminta Massina**_

 _ **63- Platinum Victorian, D1m1 - Tiara Holden**_

 _ **62- Riley Redix, D9m3 - Charming Heartsong**_

 _ **61- Natalia Tressington, D9f1 - Pepper Trill**_

 _ **60- Percy Diggory, D5m3 - Barley Maze**_

 _ **59- Malachi Kinch, D6m3 - Lyndon Meyers**_

 _ **58- Agar Campbell, D12m1 - Dynamo Serkit**_

 _ **57- Natalie Lockell, D10f1 - Invictus Nero**_

 _ **56- Trigg Yggdrasil, D7m2 - Leone Strauss**_

 _ **55- Centra Radix, D9f3 - Ally Johnson**_

 _ **54- Taylor Lovelace, D8f3 - Monique Zale**_

 _ **53- Tech Thohatdtospeeelle, D3m3 - Leone Strauss**_

 _ **52- Florian Cowbell, D10m2 - Leone Strauss**_

 _ **51- Pixey Platt, D3f3 - Jake Hallywell**_

 _ **50- Astra Moorfield, D11f3 - Leone Strauss**_

 _ **49- Thomas Ambarella, D8m2 - Rhoena Lyter**_

 _ **48- Luka Rivera, D11m3 - Opal Mahogany**_

 **KILL COUNTS:**

 _ **Leone: 4 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra)**_

 _ **Charming: 2 (Sylvie, Riley)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Platinum: 1 (Deliah)**_

 _ **Petra: 1 (Charity)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Mason: 1 (Vernon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 1 (Agar)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Giana: 1 (Azalea)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Barley: 1 (Percy)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_

 _ **Pepper: 1 (Natalia)**_


	38. Day 1, Part 2

_Asher Elm, 13, Third Male (District 7)_

All I can do is keep running through the forest. I'm used to forests from back home in District 7, and it's sure to be the place that offers me the best chance of survival.

In all honesty, I'm surprised I've even made it this far. I was almost certain that I would end up dying during the Bloodbath, but I managed to survive. It's a miracle I managed to make it out of that zone alive, really, but I can't dwell on that. I need to focus on the positive, and that is that I _am_ still alive.

A cannon sounds and it stops me in my tracks. _Has somebody died already?_ I wonder, but when more follow it I realise that it's just the Bloodbath cannons. I count them as they come, glad to be able to take a short rest, and I reach twenty-five. That's how many lives have been lost so far today. That's how many children will never get the chance to grow old and experience life fully.

It's all incredibly sickening.

 _But none of those cannons were for you, Asher,_ I remind myself. _You're still living._ And it's completely true, so I start running again in an attempt to get as far away from the cornucopia as I can. After all, the more isolated I am, the less likely it is that another tribute will find me and kill me.

The land is surprisingly flat for a forest. I mean, sure, I'm having to dodge the trees, but there isn't really anything there for me to trip up over like holes or logs. The gamemakers probably decided to fill everything in to make it more aesthetically pleasing for the cameras, unless...

What if it's not a real forest? What if they just designed it for the Hunger Games?

I mean, it would explain the lack of imperfections. It would also mean that there are added dangers though, such as poisonous plants and muttations. My eyes widen - I could _never_ win in a fight against a muttation.

I'm longing more than ever to be back in the Capitol's safety. There, I was looked after and I knew that I would be fed well. Here, I have nothing. I don't even have a weapon or a backpack - I thought it would have been too dangerous to go in and grab something. It probably was, but I suppose I'll never know what the outcome would have been if I did go towards the cornucopia rather than running away...

* * *

 _Ellia Reyner, 16, Second Female (District 2)_

"Wait!" I pant, trying to keep up with Seb and Delta. I didn't realise just how slow I was at running until now, but it's not serving me well at this moment. "Aren't we going to wait for Ally?"

"She'll find us!" Delta calls, her voice full of desperation. I guess she just wants to get as far away as she can, and I don't blame her. I can't help but want to to stop regardless, though. All of this trying to catch up with them two is making me feel exhausted.

"C- can we stop now?" I call, and Delta turns her head to me. She looks puzzled - _very_ puzzled.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I- I can't keep up with you, I'm sorry. You seem to be forgetting that I've got a giant bag on my back. It's really heavy, Delta. I need to rest." Of course, it's not really _that_ heavy, but I need an excuse to get them to stop when that's what they're both terrified of doing. Thankfully, Seb stops on the spot and nods.

"I think we've gone far enough to be safe from danger for now. We should check what's in our bags." He sits down, and Delta reluctantly does the same. I practically flop to the floor. "Okay..." He empties his out and Delta begins to nod.

"That's not too bad," she says, and I can't disagree. There's plenty of dried fruit in there, along with a soft blanket and two knives. They're not the finest ones avaliable, but they'll do as basic weapons. And the blanket will be able to fit two people rolled snugly inside it, if they sleep back-to-back. Sure, it'd be uncomfortable, but it'd manage to trap in body heat at least. "Okay, you next, Elle."

I tip out the contents and discover a bag that's very good indeed. There's a large length of brown rope which we could cut with Seb's knives if we had to. Then there's a small water bottle, which Seb proceeds to check inside and discover it to be full of water. There's a one person sleeping bag which Delta quickly claims as her own, and then there's a smaller, glass jar of tablets. "Chlorine," I read, and Delta grins.

"Water purification," she says. "Now we won't have to worry about drinking dirty water." I smile - that's certainly a good thing.

We separate the items back into the two backpacks, but this time Delta takes Seb's and he takes mine. "We can share out the weight by taking it in turns with each one," Seb says, and I'm grateful. Hopefully I'll be able to keep with them a little better if Delta's got something weighting her down this time.

* * *

 _Dynamo Serkit, 16, Second Male (District 3)_

"Hey, Petra? I've found something..." I say, holding a small boy in the air. She jogs over and scowls.

"Take him. I've already got a kill, I need you to prove yourself. Do it now."

"I got a kill though!"

"I didn't see it. You could be lying. Prove it."

"Fine by me!" I say, grinning. In all honesty, I'm just glad she gave me her approval to begin with when we were in the Capitol. If she wants me to prove myself now then I'm more than happy to do it if it means that she fully trusts me because of it. "What's your name, hm?"

"A- Asher," he chokes, his eyes brimming with tears.

"District Seven?" He nods, and I scowl. For the district, he's doing surprisingly badly.

"Cool. Bye, then!" I laugh, taking a knife from my pocket and slitting his throat. He falls to the ground, limp and lifeless. A cannon sounds and I turn to Petra, half-expecting her to act pleased or something. Of course, the fact that she is Petra means that she seems totally indifferent to my actions.

"Let's move on. He seemed alone, nothing more for us here."

"Is that it?" I ask in disbelief.

"Yes. Now move," she snaps, and I roll my eyes. I'm glad to be deemed like any other alliance member, of _course_ I am, but I'd still prefer it if she was a little more encouraging at times.

I wipe my knife on Asher's top and quickly chase after my allies, all of whom seem really bored already. Right now, I seem to be the only one of us who is even slightly happy, but I guess I'm okay with that.

After all, not everybody's going to be feeling this enthusiastic throughout a death match.

* * *

 _Therese Patterson, 16, Second Female (District 3)_

"Why couldn't we go for the forest, again?" Orchid groans as we climb up the mountain.

"Because that's where all the other tributes seemed to go," I remind her, "and that means that that'll probably be where the Careers all search." I don't mention that my sister's creations typically end up in forests, because I don't want them to realise that I'm genuinely scared that it could be my sister who kills me.

"She has a point, Orchid," Brietta says. "The more alone we are for the first day or so, the safer we'll be overall."

"Fine."

"It had better be," I laugh, "because I'm not trekking back to the cornucopia now."

Eventually, we reach a relatively flat section and the three of us sit down. "Okay," says Brietta, "let's look in these bags." I offer my backpack first of all, just wanting to get this over with. There are some crackers, an empty water bottle, some chlorine tablets, and a pair of light grey, thermal leggings. I literally squeal when I see them, and I don't hesitate to take off my shorts, shoes, and socks to wear them straight away. Of course, I put them all back on over the top, but I can feel the immediate difference. It's chilly up here, but at least my legs are properly covered now.

"Okay, now you guys," I say, happy with my items. They should all come in handy - the leggings already are, after all!

Orchid has a small hammer and some black, woolen gloves in her pack. Brietta and I frown when that's all she shows us, but it turns out that the final item was just hard to get out. It's a tent, and it explains the hammer for us. We should be able to stay dry tonight, at least.

Brietta goes last. Her bag is smaller than both Orchid's and mine were, but it's a bag nonetheless. She still had to risk her life to grab it, and that makes it just as precious as anybody else's items.

Inside, she has a full water bottle, some more crackers, and a blanket. It should be large enough to go on top of all three of us at night, though it's too small to be able to wrap beneath us as well.

"I think we've got some decent stuff," Brietta says, and I nod.

"We have." _But we're going to need to find a way to stay alive to begin with or it'll all be as useless as having nothing at all. You can't rely on blankets if you're already dead, after all..._

* * *

 _Rowan Leyton, 12, Third Male (District 12)_

I'm all alone as it goes dark. Leone agreed to grab the bags for both of us beforehand, and he still hasn't found me. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if he ever will.

I gulp - that'd be bad, considering I didn't take a single item from the cornucopia. I'd probably freeze to death in this forest.

Eventually, the Panem anthem plays and I look up. The first face to appear in the sky is the oldest boy from District 1, and it shocks me. He always seemed strong, like he could be a contendor, but I guess I was wrong about that. It's weird to think that people such as him are dead, yet I am alive. I'm only twelve and I'm fairly incompetent, and he was the complete opposite, and yet I'm not the dead one?

It's surreal, that's what it is... completely surreal.

The next face doesn't surprise me as such - no, it just saddens me. He was only young, it's not fair. None of us should be here.

I decide to only half-heartedly watch the rest, because I don't want to start crying about all the lost lives. Because that's what I would do if I watched closely: I would cry. Nobody deserves to die in the Hunger Games, I think it's far too cruel.

Sighing, I curl into a ball at the base of a tree. It's not very comfortable, but I've got to at least _try_ to sleep, haven't I?

 ** _47- Asher Elm, D7m3 - Dynamo Serkit_**

 **KILL COUNTS:**

 _ **Leone: 4 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra)**_

 _ **Charming: 2 (Sylvie, Riley)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Petra: 1 (Charity)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Mason: 1 (Vernon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Giana: 1 (Azalea)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Barley: 1 (Percy)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_

 _ **Pepper: 1 (Natalia)**_


	39. Day 2, Part 1

_Aestus Woodford, 15, Second Male (District 5)_

"What now, Scin?" I ask, feeling exhaused. I barely slept last night so all this walking is just getting too much for me.

"We need to keep walking, Aestus. We can't _stop!"_ she exclaims, her voice full of panic. "One of the Career groups could find us, and I don't think that's worth the risk."

"But-"

"Just walk, Aestus. We have to."

"Fine," I say, taking a deep breath in an attempt to store extra oxygen within my body. You know, just for emergencies... Eventually, though, I have to stop breathing in. Apparently, it seems, if you do it for too long then you feel like choking and dying.

Admittedly, the dying bit is going to come to me soon regardless, but for Scin's sake I shaln't let Death consume my soul yet. I can't just leave my friend all alone to fend for herself if I want her to survive this thing.

Eventually, she decides that it's okay to take a break. She takes out the water bottle and takes a sip before passing it to me. It's all the water we've got, so we have to be careful to not drink to much. And as much as I'd prefer her to stay healthy and drink all of it, I can't protect her from a mutt attack if I'm dehydrated and ill. So I have to drink _some._

We sit in silence, not even the trees themselves making a noise. It's peaceful, sure, but it's also eerie. It makes it as though something is amiss.

Then again, doesn't _everything_ feel amiss if you're in the arena?

* * *

 _Hugo Bennet, 14, Third Male (District 10)_

My eyelids keep shutting and it takes a lot of willpower to force them open again. It'd be nice to succumb to sleep, really, but it's too risky. Who knows who would take the chance to stab me as I sleep? Not me, that's for sure. It's impossible to find out.

Eventually, though, I have to give in. I can barely move, so I sit against a tree and close my eyes. It seems barely a moment before there's a sharp pain in my arm and, when I look, I find a knife embedded in my flesh.

"Ouch! What the-"

"Oops," a girl laughs. District 7, from the look of it. I think she killed her sister in the Bloodbath just before I ran away. Terror creeps inside of me - I don't want her to kill me too!

 _"Please-"_

"Aw, don't you want to die?" the girl taunts, and I gulp. When I shake my head, she rolls her eyes. "Isn't your district animals?" she asks, looking at the colour of my shorts.

"Yes," I say. The terror means I have to bite down hard on my bottom lip just to calm myself, and I can practically taste the metallic flavour of blood.

"Maybe you should've found a meadow instead," she laughs, and then she thrusts a spear through my stomach before I even get the chance to register what is happening to me. "The forest is - and always shall be - my domain."

"No!" I squeak, but is barely audible in my pain. And when I say my pain, I mean _agony._ I've never felt anything even close to it.

As my eyelids shut for one final time, all I can do is pray that my family will be there to welcome me to Heaven. It's my only hope now.

* * *

 _Tiara Holden, 18, First Female (District 1)_

"Guys, we've been in the arena for almost a day now. I've only heard two cannons, and neither of them were our doing," I say, feeling really pissed off at everything.

"Well, that's not _my_ fault," Monique sighs. "I said that we should head to the forest." She, Rhoena, Glair, and I all glare at Mason expectantly.

"What?"

"You led us to here. Now you're going to lead us away from here. Nobody's on these mountains, Mason, that much is clear. Let's just head back to the cornucopia then explore the forest instead. We'd get a kill almost immediately, I'm sure," I remark, and he bites his lip.

"I thought I was the alliance leader, Tiara."

"Yes, you are. But the last time I checked, the alliance as a whole has a right to make decisions. And I think we should go back to the forest. I'm sure the others will agree."

"Sorry, Mason, but it's what I said initially. I still think there is better," Monique says.

"I'll stick with them," says Rhoena with a smile, and Glair nods. I throw a pointed look at Mason, who sighs.

"Majority vote, Mason. You can't argue with that. Now let's go!" I begin to run down the mountain, laughing, and Rhoena and Glair follow right behind me. Eventually, Monique catches up to us. She's dragging a reluctant Mason behind her, and it's really rather amusing to watch.

What makes me happier than that, though, is that I got my own way this time. It means the others know that I'm not just going to let myself get pushed about - I'm a contender in this thing, and soon _everybody_ in Panem shall know it.

* * *

 _Giana Acacia, 14, Third Female (District 7)_

It's funny, in a way I always knew that I was born to bring about death, but I never expected to enjoy seeing the life drain out of people quite so much. But I do - I really do. I think it's _beautiful._

Of course, I'm sure I'd feel differently if it was _me_ taking my last breath... but it isn't, so I'm allowed to like it all. I think I would be quite upset if I never got to feel such exhiliration ever again.

Deciding I've certainly earned it, I sit down and take an apple from my backpack. A sponsor sent me three a couple of hours ago, along with a note. Apparently it was the first gift of this year's Hunger Games, and it makes me feel awfully accomplished. Surely, if a little girl from District 7 gets the first, it means that the Careers must all be acting very unimpressively.

It's a fact that gives me hope that I might actually make it out of this arena alive.

Of course, I can't get my hopes up too high just yet. There are still at least forty tributes left, and any one of them could sneak up on me at any moment. No, I just need to keep looking after myself enough so I'm well enough that I can protect myself when they do choose to attack. The first means of doing that, of course, is by actually eating this apple. I mean, it won't stay fresh for long, will it? It's hardly something I can ration, so I need to eat it all whilst I still can do so.

That's the main reason I'm eating it. The other could perhaps be described as childish arrogance. I'm the only tribute with this kind of food, and it's nice to remind myself that. Soon, I won't be the special one anymore, so I need to make the most of it for now.

* * *

 _Radia Redix, 15, Second Female (District 9)_

It still hasn't quite sunk in, and I don't want it to. Yesterday, I lost my little sister and brother, and I don't know how to deal with it. I mean, I tried to deny it at first, but then I saw their faces in the sky and it was impossible to pretend any longer.

They're gone. _Gone._ I'm never going to get Centra back. Centra, the girl with whom I have been inseparable since the day she was born, is dead. I'll never get to hug her again or remind her how much she means to me, and it _hurts._ She was always the happy one, the one who made everything better, but now she can't do that anymore. I'm going to have to learn how cope by myself.

Then there's Riley too. My only brother... gone forever at only age twelve. All those times when I could have shown him that I cared, that I could have told him I loved him... all of them wasted. I'm never going to get my little brother back... _never._ And I can't help but feel guilty over it.

Sighing, I stand up from where I am seated and begin to walk further through the forest. I can't be safe here for long, I know that much. I've got to keep moving, it'd be selfish to let myself die because I'm letting myself become depressed over it all. No, I've _got_ to win. For Centra and Riley, more than anything. If I go, then another part of them goes to. I was always the sibling closest to Centra, and all the moments we shared will be lost forever if I pass away also.

I can't let that happen, she is- _was_ always too good a person to be forgotten so easily. I sigh - it should be her still here, not me. She deserved life so much more than I ever will.

The leaves from the tree above me sway gently to the ground, reminding me that, despite the fact that I'm in an arena, it's still just autumn. It's a small comfort for me. Just like how it's a small comfort that my little siblings are together in Heaven with my parents.

It's all enough to make me cry still, though. I don't think I'll _ever_ stop crying now that they're both gone from my life.

 _ **46- Hugo Bennet, D10m3 - Giana Acacia**_

 **KILL COUNTS:**

 _ **Leone: 4 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra)**_

 _ **Charming: 2 (Sylvie, Riley)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Petra: 1 (Charity)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Mason: 1 (Vernon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Barley: 1 (Percy)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_

 _ **Pepper: 1 (Natalia)**_


	40. Day 2, Part 2

_Ally Johnson, 14, Third Female (District 4)_

You would think that, after a certain amount of crying, there would be no more tears left to fall. But it seems that isn't the case, or else I would have stopped crying several hours ago. I've got blood on my hands - quite literally, since I haven't yet found a lake to wash them in. I can't find my alliance, and I'm just wandering around a forest aimlessly. I'm overtired, I'm unclean, I'm hungry... really, I'm just an absolute mess at the moment. The sooner I find Seb and Delta and Elle, the better.

 _But what if you don't find them in time, Ally?_ I shake the thought from my head. I _will_ find them - I just haven't done so yet! I'm going to find them and share the contents of my bags with them and we can all survive together for as long as is possible!

It's a nice thought, of course, though I'm beginning to doubt how realistic it really is. Though there's a chance that I'll reach them soon, there's a much higher chance that someone like Monique will find them and kill them. And they _would_ kill them, because although Seb would be capable of fighting whoever it is, Elle would probably be too scared to battle them and Delta just doesn't have the same level of training as the Careers. They'd be dead almost immediately.

Even though I know I'm going to die in here, I still want it to be with the few people who I've grown to class as friends. Yes, I know that friendship is dangerous when it comes to the Hunger Games, but that's what we've all got: friendship. It's more than just an alliance, though we're that too. We're in this together, and we're not just using one another to get our way.

Well, that's how it was before. Now, even if it is like that, I'm not in the group. I'm on my own out here, and I hate it. I don't want to die alone - I want for there to be people there to comfort me. I mean, is that _really_ too much for a girl to ask for? To die the way a person should be able to die?

I really need to sit down, but I stop myself from doing so. Until I find the others, it would be too dangerous to do so. I can't risk it. Who knows? Maybe I'd end up like that young girl I murdered in the Bloodbath if I did.

* * *

 _Stevie Volt, 17, First Male (District 5)_

I sit, sulking, in the lower mountains. This was not my plan in the slightest, but it's all I can do now my leg is injured. See, I tried to climb a cliff face that could really only be a metre or so taller than I am, but I misjudged where the ledge was. I lost my footing, I fell. Now, my ankle is in agony and I just want to keep moving but it's too damn painful.

 _So much for being good at climbing, Stevie,_ I think bitterly, annoyed with myself. This shouldn't have happened - it was supposed to be a strength of mine! If I can't even get my stronger points right, who knows what'll happen when my only option is to try my weaknesses! I'd be dead in minutes.

 _Dead._ I still dislike the word. It's too... abrupt, too short. A bit like life itself, I suppose. I guess it's only appropriate for a harsh-sounding word such as 'dead' to signal the end of it all.

I take my bag off my back and open it up. It's only then that I remember that the water bottle was empty, and so I can't drink. The only food I've got is salted peanuts, and they'll just make my mouth feel even dryer than before. Despite my hunger, I don't want to eat them until I know I've got a drink to wash it down with.

 _Why didn't you just go for the forest, you idiot?_ I think. _There would have been berries there. You can identify berries..._ But no, I _had_ to act spontaneously and head in the direction which gave me the lowest chances of survival. You would think that coming from District 5 I would be smarter than that, and I am usually... but I'm not sure what came over me during the Bloodbath.

Sighing, I drag myself across the ground in hope of finding a place that is slightly less out in the open. I can't stay this exposed to the elements come nighttime, after all.

* * *

 _Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)_

"Oh, look," I say dryly as I spot a figure in the distance. "Look where we are? Oh, yeah, that's right. _The mountains."_ I sigh. "I told you there would be tributes here too..."

"Yeah, well you don't always have to be right, Mason," Tiara points out, and Glair and Rhoena nod. _There she goes, trying to challenge my authority again..._

"Well, we _are_ in the mountains, so technically I'm right sti-"

"Shut up for once, won't you? I'm sick of all this," Rhoena mutters, and it shocks us all. She rarely speaks that much, it has seemed to me until now, and yet here she is! Two full sentences, oh my. I scoff - how absolutely bloody ridiculous. "Mason, if we'd followed your lead then we would be miles from here by now. We wouldn't have found that tribute with your guidance. We've got Tiara to thank for that..."

"I'm not thanking her..." I say under my breath.

"Hey, Mason!" Tiara calls from ahead. "How would you like a kill? If you agree to shut up for two hours then you can take them." I don't even have to consider it before I nod. They haven't got a watch, so they can't time how long I don't boss them about for.

I jog ahead towards the figure. As I get closer, I realise that it's a girl from District 11. When she opens her mouth and starts to talk to herself, I remember her. There'll be no remorse felt for a girl _that_ annoying. I begin to run at her and before she even turns to look at who I am, there's a sword in her back.

It's a quick death for her, the cannon sounding practically immediately, and I smirk. She didn't know what was coming for her, and the sponsors have _got_ to love that... right?

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

Despite it barely being evening yet, we've already had to rest five times. Understandably, Elle struggled to get to sleep last night. I think I would have too if I didn't have Delta constantly telling me to sleep or she'd force me to. Not knowing what that entailed - sleeping pills from sponsors or punching me unconscious were the two options I could think of - well, it made me determined to sleep well. It's the first time any good has ever come from a threat by anybody, I think, but I'm thankful for it and she knows that.

It means that I'm actually alert today, and that's more than can probably be said for most tributes. Our alertness is bound to give Delta and I an advantage over the others, and it means that we'll be able to help Elle too if she somehow encounters any dangers. Ally, however... well, we still haven't found her. I mean, I'm _sure_ she'll find us, or maybe we'll find her, soon, but there's no definitive answer as to when 'soon' is going to be. It could be hours, or it could be days. There's no real way of knowing.

"Seb," Elle groans as she walks, "I'm tired."

"I- I'm not sure what I can do about that," I mutter, because it's true. What _can_ I do? It's hardly like I can just give her some of my own energy, is it?

"Ugh," she groans, sitting down again. "I'm not used to not getting enough sleep."

"I can tell," Delta laughs, and I smile. I'm glad that we're still able to get along even though we're in the arena now. "She needs caffine."

"I know that, Delta. But we don't have any right now, and we're hardly going to be looking like the most promising people to sponsor right now, are we? I mean, there have been so many cannons and not one of them was our doing!"

"You sound sad about that," Elle mutters, her face full of disapproval.

"You and I, Elle, we're both Careers. Though we hate to admit it, both of us have that killer instinct. It's ingrained in our very existance. And if it comes down to it, I'll kill whoever tries to kill me. Because I'm not just going to sit around and let myself die without putting up a fight, and you should feel the same! It's only natural!" I shout, the fact that we're in the arena finally bothering me as much as it probably should have from the start.

"Seb, don't say that, it's-"

"It's what? True. You know that as well as I do, Elle. I'm not going to kill you or Delta or even Ally if she finds us, but if someone like Monique attacks then I'm not going to hesitate to fight back. I'm not going to ju-"

"Seb?" a hopeful voice calls, and I turn to look where it is coming from. "Delta? Elle? Is that you?

"Ally?" Delta gasps.

* * *

 _Orchid Myles, 17, First Female (District 11)_

"Must we watch it, Therese?" I whisper. "Only, I'm not sure that I actually want to know who is dead. I don't want to rejoice about their lost lives, I don't want to! I'd rather just count anonymous cannons, I really would..."

"You know we can't just do that," she tuts, and Brietta snuggles closer to her, trying to warm herself by the small fire we created for warmth.

"Therese is right, Orchid. We need to know who is left as our competition."

"But I don't want to know!" I cry. "I don't want to know who took their last breath on each day! Because one day soon it'll be me up there in the sky, and I sincerely hope that people are going to see me as more than just a barrier that's already fallen."

"Orchid, we know. But please, just be quiet as it plays. You may hate it, but Brietta and I actually want to know what has happened today so please let us."

"Fine," I groan, sitting opposite the two to get as much of the fire's warmth as possible. It _is_ cold out here, after all.

The first face in the sky is a District 10 boy, and Brietta nods. "Both outer district then. No Careers dead." I bite my lip, because it's a worrying thing. It means that we're going to have to continue to watch our backs at all times. Inside my head, I say a prayer for the child. I don't want for him to still be in pain in death.

The second and final face is a girl from District 11, and I can't help but feel entirely unsurprised that she is dead. She always seemed too conceited and self-centred to make it far. The Capitol seal shines in the sky and I nod to my allies.

"Okay, that's over now. Can we _please_ set up the tent now? It's getting cold..."

"Fine," Brietta giggles, and Therese just smiles.

 ** _45- Scoria Jelenic, D11f2 - Mason Slate_**

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 4 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra)**_

 _ **Charming: 2 (Sylvie, Riley)**_

 _ **Mason: 2 (Vernon, Scoria)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Petra: 1 (Charity)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Barley: 1 (Percy)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_

 _ **Pepper: 1 (Natalia)**_


	41. Day 3, Part 1

_Pepper Trill, 16, Second Male (District 11)_

 _Come on, Pepper,_ I think. _You've got to move now._ Except, when I try to move my legs, I can't. I'm exhausted and dehydrated and I haven't eaten in days. Sighing, I give up. Unless I suddenly get a sponsor, then this is it for me. At least it's scenic and there's a tree to lean against. If there's a place that I would choose to die, it's the sort of place I would have probably chosen if my home wasn't avaliable. It's nice enough, what with the gentle breeze and the leaves occasionally falling to the ground around me.

Of course, the cameras aren't ideal, but I highly doubt that the Capitol would be interested in showing a boy peacefully drift off to sleep and then never wake up. It's hardly the most _fascinating_ of things for them to watch, after all.

I guess that's all I can hope for now: that I can die peacefully. It's for the sake of my family, Carson, and Tanya more than anything. I don't want for them to have to see me get speared or anything like that. It'd scar them mentally for life, even more so than me just even _being_ in the Hunger Games will have done already.

I just let my eyes close. That way, I'm not going to know when it's coming. I won't be able to see the Grim Reaper coming towards me to escort me to wherever it is that we all have to go after our time in Panem is up. After a while, I can feel myself drifting off into a deep sleep.

But then that all ends when I hear a monotone, female voice. I open my eyes and find the oldest girl from District 2, Petee or something, staring down at me. Despite her actually short stature, she looks like a giant to me as I'm sitting on the floor.

I try to beg her not to stab me, knowing how much it would traumatise those back home who I love, but I'm too dehydrated to be able to choke out any words. _Well isn't that just fucking fantastic,_ I think. _I'm going to look entirely helpless as I get brutally murdered by some tiny Career girl._

* * *

 _Petra Silverwood, 17, First Female (District 2)_

My sword goes straight through him. I'm not one to mess around and make something more violent and, therefore, risky just to earn more sponsors. I'm not that kind of girl, I just want to get the job done and then get out of here.

My allies all stare at me expectantly. "What?" I snap. "Haven't you got brains? We need to let them collect the body." Still, nobody moves. I sigh - _why_ did I let myself get stuck with such incompetant people for allies? "Follow me," I eventually mutter and I hear footprints behind me as I walk.

It wouldn't surprise me if some of them didn't even know the aims of tribute hunting. Obviously, it's a simple enough concept, but even the _simplest_ of things appear to be too challenging for them at times.

After a while, someone calls my name. Annoyed, I stop walking and turn to face them all. "What?"

"I need to go to the lavatory. Could you all stop a minute, please?" Darryn asks, looking uncomfortable as he speaks. It's probably because of the inevitable cameras.

"Fine," I groan, though I'm a little suspicious. We were given tablets before the arena to stop us from having to go to the "lavatory" so much, yet he keeps having to go regardless. _He's not-_ I don't even let the idea of him using it as an excuse to do something to harm the alliance fully get to my head. The tablet was probably just ineffective on him, and hopefully the Capitol will send him another soon. They'd be able to do it, after all. They manage to give out sponsor gifts easily enough. Talking of sponsor gifts...

I take a pair of thick gloves out of my bag. It's cold, and I may as well take advantage of the only thing I have over most other tributes.

When Darryn comes back, he is blushing. The amount of toilet breaks he's had to take, mind, I would be embarassed too probably. There's a high chance that the Capitol filmed it, after all, and that could turn down sponsors if he's unlucky. If he loses himself sponsors, it'll affect the whole alliance, and I don't want that. I need a _strong_ team behind me, but at the moment, all that the Capitol can probably see is Darryn's seemingly _weak_ bladder.

* * *

 _Charming Heartsong, 15, Second Male (District 1)_

"...and then it went li-"

"Charming, can you just shut the _fuck_ up?" Amber groans. "I said I'd be your ally for a while so that I'm less likely to get killed - _not_ to hear your life story." I just shake my head. Admittedly, I maybe should have put more effort into finding an ally during training, but so should have she. It's not just my fault that we ended up as the only people left to ally with once we were in the arena.

I say "the only", and it's pretty much true. Of _course_ there are other tributes, but they'd be a hinderance rather than someone to guard your back. In that sense, a depressed girl from District 12 with a slightly unnerving obsession with a whip is my best option for an ally.

Not to mention, the whip's kind of kinky. Not that I'd ever do _that_ with her - she's not my type, but it's still fun to wonder whether _she_ ever has in the past. Thinking about random things like that passes the time, which is always a good thing in the arena. There's actually a lot less to do than I thought there would be. There haven't been any mutt attacks, I haven't seen any tributes since the Bloodbat-

In the corner of my eye, I see a lone boy walking a few hundred metres. "Be quiet, Amber," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"I was," she snarls back, obviously very pissed off with me. I'm not sure why, though - I haven't made any sexual advances on her or anything. No, I've just been a normal person!

I take a knife out of my bag and make my way towards him, being careful to not make much noise. Amber follows behind me, and to her credit she doesn't make much noise either. It's not until I'm much nearer to him that I realise that I've ended up planning to assassinate the tallest tribute in the Hunger Games, and that's not going to make it easy for me.

 _Crap._

* * *

 _Barley Maze, 16, Second Male (District 9)_

I hear a gasp coming from behind me and I quickly turn to see who it is. There are two tributes, one male and one female. Upon recognising the boy to be from District 1, I begin to run as fast as I can. I don't want him killing me, he's a _Career._ He'd probably torture me.

I keep going and going, though it gives me terrible stomach cramps. Both of them have long legs, and he's probably been trained in sprinting. I can't risk the time it'd take to stop and catch my breath.

Eventually, though, fear freezes me on the spot. About ten feet in front of me is the boy from District 6 with a manic look in his eyes. Frantically, I start to look around for an escape route. The slope to my left is too steep - and besides, it's covered in trees. There's no way I'd make it up in time. To my right, I can see a cliff face in the distance. In front of me is the boy with a bloody mace, and if I turn away I'll run straight back into the hands of the Career boy.

I'm completely trapped.

My entire body begins to shake as he gets closer towards me. He may be short, but I know that he's more than capable of ripping my guts out with the spikes on that... that... that _thing._ I can't even remember its name anymore, I'm panicking too much. This is _not_ how I want it to end, but I know that there's no other option for me anymore.

It turns out that my destiny's always been to get ripped to pieces with some spiky weapon, and it's beginning to make whatever torture the District 1 boy would have put me through seem like a pleasant dream.

I hear the duo's footsteps coming up behind me, but then they stop before they're near me. "Amber, run!" the boy screams as I hear him go back away from here. He must've seem the weapon.

The fact that they're no longer after me means that there is an open escape route for me to take, and I'm about to do so when I feel my stomach explode with pain. I look down and I can only think one thing: _It's already too late._

* * *

 _Invictus Nero, 14, Third Male (District 2)_

I can't believe that I _still_ haven't found Opal. I mean, the arena can't be _that_ big, can it? I sigh - apparently it _is_ that big. I've been walking for the best part of two days now, and it seems like I'm just walking onwards and onwards!

Admittedly, there's so many trees that I probably wouldn't notice if I ended up walking around in circles, but still: there's no real progress being made. I've heard two cannons so far today, but yesterday there were only two in total! It's all so slow-paced, which is _not_ how imagined it would be. With this many tributes, surely there should be more deaths happening... but there aren't.

Anyway, back to Opal, because I'm really not sure where she could have gone. Heck, one of those cannons earlier could have been for her for all I know!

 _Stop dwelling on it, Invictus,_ I tell myself. _She's gone. Maybe she'll have even found a new alliance by now - it's entirely possible. She's gone, you've got to do this on your own now._ And I'm not kidding myself - she really _is_ gone, because if she wasn't then I would have found her by now. I'm a "loner" tribute now, I haven't got an ally. And I can't help but feel as though that's the reason I haven't gotten any sponsor gifts...

 _Nonsense._ The only reason I haven't gotten any sponsor gifts is because I haven't gotten any kills since the Bloodbath. And I can't do that unless I run into another tribute!

None of it is in my power at all, and I hate it! I hate it! This is supposed to make me look like I'm strong and capable and yet I must look like some overgrown fool. It's a _horrible_ feeling, not having control over your own destiny. I can only _imagine_ how regretful some of the volunteers feel.

Like Ellia. She always seemed too weak to be a victor when we were back in the Capitol, and I think that she would have _never_ have entered herself into this without his influence. She just didn't seem that kind of girl to me.

 _Maybe you should have just allied with someone like her, Invictus. With her connections, there's no way that she isn't getting sponsors!_ I hit myself in the face and lean against a random tree. I'm so stupid sometimes, it makes me wonder how I'm still in this thing.

 _ **44- Pepper Trill, D11m2 - Petra Silverwood**_

 _ **43- Barley Maze, D9m2 - Leone Strauss**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 5 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley)**_

 _ **Charming: 2 (Sylvie, Riley)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Mason: 2 (Vernon, Scoria)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Barley: 1 (Percy)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_

 _ **Pepper: 1 (Natalia)**_


	42. Day 3, Part 2

_Risetto Thorsten, 18, First Male (District 9)_

This is all just hideous. Admittedly, it still beats getting sold out to filthy old men, but only barely. Confused? Me too - I think the arena's fucking my mind up even more than my parents already managed over the years.

Life's been an absolute bitch to me over the years, and I hate it. _I hate it._ In fact, I think I've hated almost every moment of it from the very first time I was prostituted out. I'll _never_ forgive my mother and father for all that they've put me through in the last five years even if I _do_ manage to get out of here alive - _never._

I sit down and curl myself into a ball. It's so cold in the arena, and my legs are bare. I've tried fastening my cardigan over my knees but it just seems to make my ankles even colder when I do so, so I don't do that any longer.

I don't understand why they didn't just give us trousers. Heck, even those leggings things that some little girls wear would be better than these shorts. I mean, they barely cover my bottom! The girls especially must be feeling _so_ overly sexualised right now, and it's horrible. But it just goes to show the sort of country Panem is: it's run by gruesome men, and we're just the pawns in a twisted game they play.

I mean, why else would they give us these outfits? They're not even practical!

Sighing, I close my eyes and try to sleep. It may be midday, yes, but _heck_ \- there's no proper time to sleep once you're in the arena! Now is as good as ever.

Except, I can't sleep, and I doubt I will even if I make it out of here alive. There's always going to be shadows lurking over my shoulder - _always._ And I'm not sure if I'd ever be able to learn how to separate the angels from my demons.

* * *

 _Scintillaea Ardor, 15, Second Female (District 5)_

From the shadows, a boy appears. He is covered in blood and on his face he wears a menacing grin. In his hand, a baton-like thing full of flesh-covered spikes sits peacefully, almost as if it is pretending that it is innocent of all the murders it has so clearly committed. His intent is obvious, and he looks as though he knows exactly what to do.

And it _scares_ me.

I have to bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop it from quivering so much. If I can get my emotions under control then maybe I can get Aestus and I out of this situation. I turn to my friend and he nods at me, giving me his support. I nod back.

"Hi. I'm Scin a- and this is Aestus. W- we come in peace," I say, silently praying for the words to come to me because I honestly don't know what to say. The boy grunts, and I gulp - this won't be easy.

"We can settle this peacefully... r- right?"

He raises his mace over his head and I quickly push Aestus out of danger's way and take a step to my left before he brings it down. I'm uninjured still... for now.

"Please," I beg, " _please_ don't hurt me. I'll stay away from you, I swear! I- I promise that I'll leave you alone forever! Just... _please!"_ Tears begin to stream down my face - I can't hold them in any longer. This is all just too much for a girl like me to handle now. I never prepared for any of this, and why would I? I had always fully expected to live a full and happy (well, as happy as you can get in Panem) life. And now I've been robbed of all of that, my future taken away from me, and it is somehow still getting worse.

 _How_ does it keep getting worse? It shouldn't even be possible!

The boy rolls his eyes in an over dramatic way and Aestus takes his moment of inactivity as his cue to begin running. I find a place to hide and as soon as the boy turns around to try and see where Aestus went, I run to it and pray to all things holy that he doesn't see where I've gone.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to, and I take a sigh of relief. _I'm alive._ "I'm okay," I whisper to myself and I allow myself to close my eyes for just a moment. "I'm gonna be okay..."

But when I open them and look out of my hiding place, I see that Aestus isn't going to be okay. I see the weapon make contact with his stomach and rip his guts out in a horrifying way. I have to put my hands over my mouth to muffle my cries.

A cannon goes off and the boy walks away from the scene, probably in search of me. And though it should fill me with relief that I am not dead yet, it terrifies me instead. I'm without any allies now, I'm _alone._

And I'm really not sure how I'm going to cope.

* * *

 _Eucalyptus Realms, 12, Third Female (District 10)_

I'm wary of the fact that it is going dark. If there are any tributes nearby then they'll see my fire and that automatically makes me a target. It's a risk I must take, though, if I wish to even stand a chance at winning this thing. To not make any poisons when I have the necessary ingredients would just be sacrilage, especially since I know so much.

At heart, though, I know that there is a deeper, more sincere reason I want to make this. An avox lost their life for me to get a chance to use poisons, and I do not want for their sacrifice to be in vain. If I don't even _try_ to make something for myself... well, that would almost be as though I was forgetting about what they did for me and pretending that they were even more worthless than the whole of the Capitol clearly thought they were.

Me? I don't believe that whatever they did could be _that_ bad. If their crime was a truly dreadful one then they would not be allowed around tributes, would they? No... no matter what the Capitol say, I don't believe that any avoxes deserve to die. They all probably acted out of desperation, and that isn't something worth killing them over.

Once the poison is boiled, I quickly blow out the flame and pour the liquid into a bottle. I'll have to be extra careful to not drink it because it looks a lot like water. On the plus side, though, if I do end up in a tricky situation, drinking poison may still be a less painful way out of here than getting my head bashed in or chopped off.

In some situations, I may end up electing to drink the lethal liquid myself. It is precious now, both as a weapon and as a way of reminding myself that I should not have to die a painful death should it come down to it.

After rubbing my hands together over the dying flame one final time, I walk away from the site. The light may be gone, but there's still smoke coming from the former fire and I don't want to be anywhre near the site when the Careers find it. That'd just be like walking right into a trap, and I'm too clever for that...

* * *

 _Jake Hallywell, 14, Third Male (District 8)_

It may be the third day in the arena but it feels as though it has been both longer and shorter than that to me. Longer, because I've had little sleep and I've been living in constant terror, but shorter, because the moment that little girl died keeps replaying inside my head and it stays fresh in my memory. It still seems as though it happened just a few hours ago.

I can picture her dying moments vividly. Me falling, the knife in my hand piercing her back... it pains me now as much as it did back then. It's the reason I've barely stopped crying since I entered this arena. And it's also the reason why I don't think I'll ever smile again.

There's too much guilt surrounding me to make room for _happiness_ of all things!

I clench my fists, making my nails dig into my palms. It hurts, but at the same time it relieves me of some of the emotional pain I'm going through. It helps me _forget,_ and even though it is probably the worst thing to do, it is the thing I want to do most. It's the only thing that would _ever_ make me be able to face myself and not feel some strong sense of self-hatred for the thing which I have done.

I sit in a hedgehog-like ball for a long time, just crying, until I hear the Capitol anthem. Slowly, I force myself to uncurl and, reluctantly, I look up at the sky. Sure enough, the stars in the seemingly eternal darkness are now forming a backdrop for the Capitol logo. Though the logo is what should be the most obvious, considering its size and its bright colour, it's not what I am drawn to.

No, I keep getting caught up in the stars. They're so bright that it looks like the sparkles are dancing and it is stunning. At the same time, however, they seem _too_ bright, as though they are not real. Knowing the Capitol, they probably aren't.

The only thing of beauty here in the arena is probably just as fake as everything else about its creator - the Capitol - and its citizens. And it makes me want to cry even more than ever.

* * *

 _Lennon Chai, 17, First Female (District 7)_

There were three cannons today and, sure enough, three faces appear in the sky: a boy from 5, a boy from 9, and a boy from 11. _All boys,_ I think. _All boys who were sure in themselves, who never had to try to get acceptance._

I groan. " _They_ never had to hide away their true self." And now, as I sit in the middle of a death match, I realise that I have nothing to lose. I know I'm probably going to die regardless of who I am, or who I pretend to be, so there's no point in trying to be somebody who I am not any longer. Screw the Capitol and their wishes for simplicity, _screw them!_ I'm going to let myself be the person I always have been, I'm not going to be a girl just because that's what they want me to be!

In an almost frantic manner, I tear - not literally, I may hasten to add, for I still need to use it - my bag from my back and take out a small knife. _It'll do,_ I think. Of course, scissors would have been preferable, but I have to make do with the tools I have at hand.

I undo my braid and lie my extentions as flat as I can make them go. They were painful when I was forced to get them, both physically and emotionally. It hurt when they accidentally burned my neck, and it hurt as they drove yet another wedge between my physical self and my true self. I pull a piece of them forwards and, being careful not to cut myself, I chop through the fake hair.

Looking down and seeing even just a little bit of my hair short again makes me smile more than I have smiled since I arrived in this arena. I do the same for the rest of my hair, though the back proves particularly tricky and I'm fairly sure that I somehow nicked the back of my neck. It doesn't hurt much though, and I can deal with it so long as I look like myself again. _Which you do, Lennon, you look more like you now,_ I remind myself.

Suddenly, I realise that the thing that was so impractical on my head could actually have a practical use. It's extremely long because of the Capitol's bizarre wishes for 'beauty' - in their sense of the word - over practicality, and if twisted together I think it could become a decent enough rope. If it works, it'd make the Hell that I went through in the Capitol much more worth it. I stuff it into my bag along with the knife and secure it back on my back. It may be late, but I feel more awake than ever, and there's one thing that I've missed doing since I got the impractical extentions.

It's time for me to climb a tree and set up camp there.

 _ **42- Aestus Woodford, D5m2 - Leone Strauss**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 2 (Sylvie, Riley)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Mason: 2 (Vernon, Scoria)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_


	43. Day 4, Part 1

_Velvet Lea, 17, First Female (District 8)_

I wake up to a rumbling stomach, and my first thought is about just how unattractive I must seem right now. Sighing, I go over to the little pond I found yesterday and rinse my face, grateful that the water is still somehow crystal clear. _It's because it's man-made, Velvet, be careful,_ I remind myself, but I try to wipe it from my mind that it could possibly be a trap. It didn't do me any harm yesterday, and I doubt it'll do me any harm now.

Besides, I haven't drank any without purifying it first with the tablets that my mentor sent me. I must say, I'm very grateful for Woven's note that she attatched with it, because I'm certain that I would have not thought to purify my water otherwise. She may have saved my life, because I'm not sure what this pond water would do to me if I actually swallowed it as it is.

I decide to let the air dry my face, the cooling sensation of the liquid actually quite refreshing on my skin. As it does so, I figure that I should sort out my stomach and its hungry noises, so I sit down and open a packet of dried fruit and eat half of it. It should be enough to keep me going for now; I had to get used to small portions as a model, after all.

The grass beneath me is green and soft, and it tickles my legs whenever I move a little bit. It's relaxing, and it reminds me that not everything about arenas are bad. They can be tranquil at times too.

Besides, some things about the arena are nicer than at home. Back in District 8 there were so many fumes, but here the air is clear and I can breathe properly for what may be the first time in my whole life. Those from District 11 or District 10 or possibly even District 4 probably don't feel much difference, but _I_ do, and it's nice.

The breeze with it is quite calming too, if not a little too chilly for my liking. I pull my cardigan around me tighter, grateful for the warmth it provides me. Sure, it isn't much, but if it is enough to stop me from getting hypothermia or freezing to death then I'll take it.

Apparently the gamemakers don't like me that much anyway, as they have shown so cruelly already. And that is what is worrying me the most right now. I haven't exactly been the most fascinating tribute to watch - I don't even have my looks to back me up so much at the moment - and that combined with their apparent distaste for me would be a good enough reason to set a pack of muttations on me, likely.

I cannot imagine anything worse than _that_ , and I don't want that to be how I... _pass,_ for want of a nicer explanation. It's definitely true that I could have been kinder over the years, but I doubt that anything I ever did was worthy of being painfully torn apart by several pairs of bloody jaws. I mean, it's not like I've killed anyone or something like that... although, given my current situation, that may have left me better off.

I sigh - sometimes life just isn't fair.

* * *

 _Brietta Luna, 15, Second Female (District 8)_

"I'm freezing," I groan as I snuggle further under the blanket. It may not be particularly early anymore, but none of us have felt the need to leave the tent yet. Ultimately, though, I know that at least one of us shall have to soon. We are all out of food now, and if we don't find some soon then we shall starve to death.

"We all are," Orchid mutters, and I move myself even closer to Therese. Since Therese has her leggings, Orchid has her gloves, and I have nothing but the blanket I'm sharing, the other two let me go in the middle at night. Sure, it keeps me warmer, but it still doesn't compare to the warmth of another body. Hugs have never seemed so welcoming until now. _Now_ I see their true worth, and it's much more than just emotional comfort.

In next to no time at all, Orchid has moved up to me too and it feels like I'm stuck in the middle of a tribute sandwich. On the plus side, there is additional warmth. On the downside, I can hear the sound of my allies' stomachs rumbling even louder than ever before, and it doesn't do anything to help me forget about my own starvation. No, it's making me feel desperately hungry for anything that might just be edible, and I know that is not a good state to be in.

We stay like that for a while before I am unable to take it any longer and I give in. Shuffling forward a few inches and throwing off the blanket, I announce, "Right, that's it. Leave it any longer and we'll all be too weak to even move out of this tent. We need food, okay? So I'm going to look for some. I-"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asks Therese, her eyes wide. "I mean, there could be Careers out there or something..."

"Therese has a point, Bree. You could die out there so easily. You're frail right now - we all are, so don't pretend you're fine because us two are exactly the same as you. You're going to be going out there, into a cold and mountainous area, with just a pair of shorts and some socks to cover your legs. You could get pneumonia or anything, Bree. I hate to have to be pessimistic about this - about anything, even - but I seriously think it'd be a bad idea."

"Right," I mutter under my breath, knowing that there is much truth in my allies' points. At the same time, however, I know that we will all die if I don't take the risk now. Only one tribute can win in the end anyway, and at least this way I'll be creating an opportunity for one of us to survive this thing. With the cold, it'd be unlikely to be me in the end, but I'd much rather one of them survive than some trained psychopath. They're both lovely, they deserve the chance at life.

I'm not going to be the one to deny them that chance at life just because a selfish want to preserve myself. I'm not that sort of cruel girl.

"Look," I say, "at least we'll stand a chance if I go and find something. We stand no chance at all if we decide to stay, and I don't want to put us all in that situation. I still think it is a reasonable risk to take, okay? If I don't take it, then I'll be dead by tomorrow maybe. If I do, then I might still end up dead by tomorrow... or I could survive and live another few days at minimum. I'm taking the risk, regardless of what you think of its merits and downfalls."

"Okay," Orchid mutters, looking at me with a sad smile. I think she understands my point, and I'm going to take it as her blessing. Therese just nods before reaching her arms out and pulling me into a hug.

"Be safe, won't you?" Therese reminds me, her whispered voice full of nerves.

I force a smile and reply, "Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen to me," though I'm not entirely sure who I am trying to convince more: her or me. Regardless of that, though, I've made up my mind, and now I have a plan to act out. And I'm going to make sure it gets completed.

* * *

 _Amber Dawns, 18, First Female (District 12)_

"Shut up," I whisper to my talkative, annoying ally, prodding him sharply in the arm as I do so. He screams loudly, and it makes me irate. "What part of 'shut up' can you not comprehend? The first word, or the latter one? And _seriously?_ For a supposedly scary Career boy, you have an _incredibly_ low pain tolerence," I whisper, my voice fully showing my irritation, and he rolls his eyes. I decide to let _that_ pass, but when he opens his mouth to respond I glare at him. "Be. Quiet."

"As you so wish, Little Miss Bossy-Boots," he says with a slight laugh, and I have to bite down hard on my bottom lip to prevent myself from screaming at him.

"Like it or not, Charming, I'm the leader here. You're too irresponsible for that. So be quiet, and help me hunt down some tributes. The sponsors will be deterred if neither of us get any kills soon."

"I already have two kills, Amb-"

" _Bloodbath_ kills. They won't remember those. Now, shut up and help me find a tribute! We already lost one to that psycho with a mace, I'm not going to lose another anytime soon, do you understand?"

"It's crystal, Amber."

"Glad to know you're in agreement at last, th-"

"No, I don't mean that, silly!"

"Oh. Well, what _do_ you mean?" I ask, totally puzzled. It's unlike him to be so cryptic - until now, everything he has said has had a clear meaning.

He rolls his eyes and points at something a few metres to his right, and I smirk. _So that's what he means,_ I think. _Genuine crystals..._ Charming walks over to them, me following behind him cautiously, and tentatively picks one of them up. As he holds it to the light, I see the supposed sunlight shining on it and swirls of colour circling inside. It's proof that the lighting in the arena is fake, yes, though I am almost certain that that is not the purpose of these gems.

"Take them all," I order, and he looks a little shocked. "If they're of any use later on, I don't want another tribute having them rather than me- I mean, rather than _us._ Collect them all and then we can split them between us."

"As much as I hate to say it, you may have an idea there," he says, flashing a smile before picking up some more of the crystals. After around thirty seconds, he turns to me and asks, "Aren't you going to do anything to help, Amber?"

"I'm splitting them between bags, Charming. Don't question me." He groans, and I grin to myself. I'm not used to having this much authority, but it's nice. It makes depression seem somewhat less depressing, having something else to occupy my thoughts.

After we have got them all, we set about walking again. Surprisingly, they haven't added much weight to the bags at all. It makes me question what they are made out of, but I try not to give it too much thought. If I did, I would be panicking far too much right now over something which is probably entirely innocent.

After what seems to be an eternity, I hear a muffled sob. "Did you hear that?" I ask, and Charming nods.

"Keep walking, we should check it out, Amber."

We walk for maybe fifteen metres or so and then I turn back around, aware that the crying is getting quieter again. "There," I say, pointing through a gap in the trees. "There's a boy through there. Looks to be outer district, though he is not District Twelve. I don't recognise him," I say to my ally before turning and facing back in the opposite direction.

"Amber, the fuck are you doing?"

"He's yours, Charming. I'm not judging you, so don't judge me. I want to take a rest anyway, so I'm just going to perch myself on this rock over here. You don't need me for back up, you've trained for this..."

"Okay," he mutters as I walk away and sit down. "Yeah, I can do this alone..." I hear him walk through the small clearing and there is a high-pitched scream - _the boy's,_ I think - and then there is nothing but the sound of a knife repeatedly piercing his body. Then, there is a cannon and a tap on my shoulder. I shiver, and turn to face my smiling ally.

"That was his cannon?"

"Of course," he says, his smile turning into a malicious grin. It's unnerving, what with him being only about fifteen, but I make sure not to let my mild terror show.

"Good," I say, my fake smirk matching the cruel pride on his face. After all, honesty isn't _always_ the best policy. Sometimes it pays better to be a liar...

* * *

 _Delta Joule, 17, First Female (District 5)_

"I thought we all agreed that I was doing the cooking this time," I say in a monotone voice when I hear footprints behind me.

"Yeah," comes a male voice. _Sebastian,_ I think. "But I was getting bored. Don't get me wrong, Elle and Ally are both great people, I just don't personally see the appeal in a conversation about _lipstick._ "

I laugh. "Fair enough. I would have likely done the same if it were the other way around, too. I mean, sure, lipstick can look pretty awesome sometimes, but I wouldn't want a _discussion_ about it."

"I think it depends on the colour, though. Red is really nice and so is pink, but I don't think that green looks particularly good," he says with a friendly smile, but it turns into a frown when he seems to suddenly realise that was a bad thing to say, and in a flurry of quick words, he adds, "Of course, it never looks _bad,_ I just think the other colours are a lot nicer. And it depends on the way the person wears it. In the Capitol, the shades of green are better than back home. The Capitol's people wear it better."

Seb looks me in the eyes almost in desperation, clearly knowing that his first comment may have offended the sponsors and his second one hardly made things better, but I purse my lips shut - do the Capitol realise that the districts don't _really_ have _green_ lipstick of all colours? Those who can afford it at all seem to go for slightly classier shades.

I personally struggle to _not_ be honest with people, and my own opinion on green lipstick would lose _all_ of the sponsors for sure. It'd be a bad idea to try to help him recover the couple of sponsors he may have just irritated. Instead, I change the topic back to our allies' personal conversation.

"I wonder how Ally got lipstick. I mean Elle, sure, she's a victor's child, but I thought District Four was similar in wealth to District Five, and we would _never_ have enough money to afford that."

"It _is_ similar, I think. But I don't think she had it back home, she was talking about in the Capitol. Apparently her prep team abandoned her and she tried to do it herself or something. Anyway, to cut a short-ish story even shorter, she didn't succeed in making it look nice when she tried herself and her stylist had to sort it out."

"That explains that then," I say as I chuckle at the mental image of my ally attempting to put on lipstick for the first time.

"Yeah, it does..." He runs his fingers through his hair, and offers me an awkward smile. All of us have been in here for far too long already, and things are beginning to happen such as chapped lips and matted hair. Well, for me, that is. My allies only seem to have the hair issue and not the chapped lips. _Lucky Career district genes,_ I think, knowing it probably isn't the case but still feeling jealous. _They seem to be better off for most things._

We talk for a while longer and it's genuinely a rather refreshing change from all the doom and gloom of the arena. It just feels... _normal,_ and I'm grateful that I have allies who I feel comfortable around. In the end though, I can't hold it in any longer and I start giggling.

"What?" he asks.

"You do realise that we're still having a discussion about lipstick..."

"The very thing I was trying to avoid," he says with a laugh. "It seems it was my destiny and entirely unavoidable."

"Indeed," I say, rolling my eyes. I turn back to the fire where the food has been cooking and I gasp. "Oh no!"

"What?" Sebastian asks, his voice sounding wary.

"I burned the food," I mutter, annoyed at myself for not paying more attention to it.

"Ah," he says as he walks over and looks at it. "I guess we'll be eating it charred tonight. It's no big deal, Delta." He quickly hugs me and I hug him back, glad that he's not angry. Then again, I've gotten myself some good allies - there's no way that _any_ of them would get angry at me over something like burnt food.

* * *

 _Rhoena Lyter, 18, First Female (District 6)_

"Rho?" Tiara whispers, her face full of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am fine, Tiara. Honestly, you needn't worry so much about me. I'm always fine."

"Well, you say that, but I've noticed tha-"

"Tiara, I am perfectly okay, understand?" I say firmly, not wishing to offend her but also not wishing to be interrogated by her about my mental state. I am perfectly sane, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why she worries about me so much.

It could be something to do with the fact that I am outer district and reaped, unlike them, but I doubt it. I'm as capable as any of them, and they know that. Well, at least in theory, I am...

I sit down, leaning against the golden wall of the cornucopia. We've done a lot of walking so far, and I'm grateful for any rest I can get. With any luck, Mason will be tired also. If not, at least I'll have had a few precious minutes to regain my breath.

Of course, Tiara follows me after not too long and I don't get peace for more than a minute or so, but it was a nice idea regardless.

"So, Monique spoke to me," she says as she sits beside me, and I groan.

"What did she want?"

"She doesn't think you've been pulling your weight," she says, pulling a pouty face. "And apparently Mason and Glair agree."

" _Glair_ agrees? _Glair,_ who I don't recall getting a single kill yet, agrees that _I,_ with one kill, have not pulled my weight?" I roll my eyes in frustration, and Tiara pats my shoulder.

"I know, I know," she mutters, before putting her mouth by my ear and whispering, "but don't worry, we'll get him eventually." A smirk creeps on my face, and it doesn't make me feel anywhere near as guilty as it should make me feel. Perhaps I should feel guilty for not feeling guilty, but I don't feel any guilt about that either. I guess the arena's just hardening me even more than life in District 6 ever did.

"Fine. But why did she come to you?"

"She wants _you_ to take the next kill to prove you're worthy."

"You mean to save her the effort of killing him or her?" I snap back, and it makes my ally laugh.

"I guess you could say that, if you so wished. I'm not sure it was the angle she was going for, but... yeah. Let's go with that. Anyway, you'll do it, right?"

"Sure, I guess. It can't be that hard, right?" I say, my voice wavering slightly. I don't particularly want to end another life, but I'll do it if it keeps me my place in the alliance. Without it, I'd be dead by tomorrow. There isn't really any other option, 'yes' is the only answer that is acceptable.

I wish it wasn't.

"You'll be fine," she says, wrapping her arm around me. I wince, not being the greatest fan of physical contact, and she lets go of me. "Sorry."

"Tiara! Rhoena! Get up!" Glair calls with a smirk and Tiara simultaneously nudges me and sends me a pointed look, reminding me about our agreement from the Capitol. He won't survive much longer, but we'll have to be careful about our timing if we want him to be the only one who dies in the events.

Monique comes over to Tiara and I and nods at me, asking my companion, "Have you told her?"

"Yes. She agreed, so see? It's no big deal. She's not dead weight." Monique nods at her and walks back to Mason, though her facial expression makes it clear that she isn't happy with Tiara's way of phrasing things. Once she is gone, under her breath Tiara adds, "But some people are..." I dig my elbow into her side, a warning to her that she isn't being quiet enough, and she winces momentarily.

"I had to," I say through gritted teeth, and she nods, leaning back slightly. Then, we are silent, both of us taking a moment to get some rest. Well, we were hoping to get some rest but now there's no chance of that because Mason is standing in the centre of us all and is telling us all to get ready to venture through the mountains.

"Oh, do we _have_ to, Mason? We already went there..." groans Tiara, slouching even further to the ground. I turn to her and she winks, making me laugh even though I know it's probably an inappropriate situation for laughter. _Don't make friends, Rhoena. You can't make friends, not in the Hunger Games. Remember, you're only with them for the sake of your own survival..._ I shake my head to get rid of my thoughts. Tiara's not going to harm me any time soon, and laughter makes this whole thing more tolerable.

"And we're doing it again," a frustrated Mason orders in a voice that tells us not to mess with him, so we all get up, grab our weapons and some supplies, and follow him into the mountain range.

 _ **41- Jake Hallywell, D8m3 - Charming Heartsong**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 3 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Mason: 2 (Vernon, Scoria)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 1 (Thomas)**_

 _ **Jake: 1 (Pixey)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_


	44. Day 4, Part 2

_Rhoena Lyter, 18, First Female (District 6)_

We walk through the lower mountains almost aimlessly. We've been here already, of course, but Mason was insistent on returning for a few hours. It was his 'gut instinct', he told us earlier, and I don't know whether or not I should hope that his gut was right when it told him that we would find a tribute here.

It seems to take hours and I'm beginning to feel hopeful that I can retain my sanity for another day when Glair spots something. Upon closer inspection, we can all see that it is a tribute. I gulp, not wanting to face the truth I already know. _Th_ _is is it, Rhoena. This is what you've brought upon yourself, and you have nobody to blame for your badly judged actions other than yourself._

It's too late to pretend I didn't want to kill, I made them a promise this morning and I'm not one to go back on my promises easily - _especially_ not when I know that being seen as a liar could prove fatal for me. Theoretically, taking another's life to save my own should be an easy decision to make, but for me it isn't. The thing is, I'm not sure whether or not I'm ready to fully become a murderer.

I mean, sure, I killed in the Bloodbath, but that's _different._ There, it was all very kill or be killed, but here? This girl poses no threat to my life, there is _no_ _way_ that I'll be able to trick myself into thinking that it was self-defence when I look back.

Mason grabs her by the shoulders before she even notices us, and when she screams I feel pain all over my body for the poor girl. It is me who is the final person she shall ever see, and she will likely be feeling absolutely traumatised. _And there is nothing you can do to stop that, Rhoena..._

He looks at me, and I nod. He then pushes her against a vertical piece of rock and I can tell that it is my cue to take over. I push her shoulders back and I force myself to smirk. Of course, I don't do anything else, and it annoys the others. "Just hurry up, Rhoena," Monique groans. "This is getting tiresome."

"Sorry, Monique. It's just, I'd quite like to drag this out for as long as I can-" _lies, lies, lies, Rhoena_ "-but I'm not keeping you here. Feel free to go ahead, if you so wish."

Mason grunts at me, but he nods. "Come on, Monique, let's carry on and not waste any more time. Glair, you too, but Tiara, you stay behind. I don't want any of this alliance getting left alone, okay?" We all nod, knowing not to argue with his authority, and he, Monique, and Glair all begin to walk away. There's just Tiara and I left now... well, us and the girl I'm expected to murder in broad daylight.

It soon becomes clear that Tiara has noticed my reluctance, because she puts her hand on my shoulder. It makes me very glad it is her who was told to stay behind rather than one of the others. They would not be trying to comfort me, _that_ is for sure. At the same time, though, it makes me feel nervous about the fact that I have been feeling so comfortable around her. It's not natural to form friendships in the arena, particularly between girls from such different districts as ours.

"Come on, Rho," she mutters to me. "It'll be good practice for... well, you know." I nod, knowing that she is referring to the plan to assassinate Glair when the time comes. And even though I know that it is a wise plan, I'm starting to doubt its worth to me personally. I mean, do I _really_ want this enough to betray my allies?

I guess that's a matter for another time, though. Right now, I've got this girl to deal with. And as cruel as I can seem at times, I'm not entirely without a heart. I have absolutely no intention of dragging this on for longer than it has to be dragged on for.

"I'm so sorry," I mouth when Tiara isn't looking, and she nods. I think she is trying to tell me that it's okay, that she doesn't hate me for this, but it just makes me feel even more guilty. _Don't feel guilty, Rhoena. Guilt is a sign of weakness, you know that._ It's not fair to keep dragging this on, so I take a knife from Tiara and glance at the girl's different body parts. I know it seems stupid and weird of me, but I want to give her at least some say in the way she dies.

I would want my own killer to do the same for me, after all.

When my eyes reach her neck, she nods. _A quick death,_ is what comes to mind as I drag the knife across her throat. As she dies, she doesn't take her eyes off of me, and I don't let go of her either until the cannon sounds. She's a human who I just robbed of her life, it was the least I could do... to stay with her as she was welcomed by death, that is. I would have had to have been particularly cruel to not try and make her final moments as relaxed and painless as possible, given the circumstances.

Tiara grabs the now-corpse off me and flings it to the ground. "Come on," she says with a cheerful grin, "let's go and find the others." And she skips away without even looking back, not a trace of remorse surrounding her. But for me, it is different. I may have been brought up to be tough and fierce, but I wasn't taught to be a killer.

Right now, that fact is what is to blame for all this guilt eating me up inside.

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

"Hey, Seb!" Elle calls, and I turn to face her.

"What?"

"Look!" she says, pointing somewhere in the distance.

"Again, Elle... what is it you're trying to show me?"

"It's water! Water, Seb, water! Can't you see?" She smiles at me and I take a few steps forward so I'm beside her, but I still cannot see it.

"Elle, I think it's a mirage..." says Delta as she puts her hand on her shoulder. "You're thirsty, you want water, so you imagine that water and it appears before you. It's just woodland..." Elle's face drops at the news and her eyes seem to well up a little, though not enough for actual tears to fall. We ran out of water altogether earlier, and we haven't had much the past day or two. No wonder she's hallucinating.

"B- but... Seb, I'm thirsty," she whispers, her quiet voice trembling as she speaks. I wrap my arms around her, and she rests her head on my shoulder and sobs to herself.

"It'll be all right in the end, Elle. Don't worry, you're going to be fine," I mutter under my breath, and I look up at Delta, who shakes her head solemnly. She knows as well as I do that, if we don't find a stream soon, we will all likely die of dehydration. The sponsors haven't exactly been favourable towards our alliance over the last day or so, to say the least. If we want for one of us to become the victor this year then we are going to have to become a lot more self-sufficient.

"Let's sit down," calls Ally, and Delta nods.

"Good idea. I think we're all in need of a brief rest," she says before biting down hard on her bottom lip. Stopping altogether at this time of day is a big risk, but it's one we have to take for Elle's safety. It would be wrong to keep going when I'm almost certain it would cause her to pass out.

Delta and I help Elle into a seating position against a tree, me seated on the one side of her and Ally on the other just in case she faints or something. Maybe we are overreacting, but I'd rather us stay on the safe side then push it and lose her for good.

I don't want the next cannon that sounds to be Elle's, and I'm going to everything in my power to ensure that my wishes are granted.

As time goes on, Delta and I get more and more worried about Elle, and at one point we genuinely think we've lost her, but in some perfectly timed piece of fortune a large parachute falls down between Delta and I, and I see the number '4' clearly printed on the side. "Go on," says Delta in nervous anticipation. "Open it then, Seb."

"Me? It could be for Ally, you kno-"

"Ally is a good couple of metres from it, and you know that," she reminds me, and I sigh. "It's yours, Seb. Open it." Nervously, I do as she says and inside there are two full bottles of water. Delta gasps. "Is it real?"

Ellia crawls over, her body now very weak, and her face lights up. She reaches out to touch it, and when she is able to make contact with it without it vanishing into thin air she wraps me into a hug. "I don't know what you did to get them to send you that, but you're a lifesaver," she whispers, and I smile.

* * *

 _Darryn Allain, 14, Third Male (District 4)_

"So," Petra says, a grumpy look on her face. I frown - an annoyed Petra is not a good Petra to be near, especially if you're sitting by her in a circle of tributes like I am. She decided to pull an alliance meeting, and it makes me wary because I haven't got a clue what it could possibly be about.

We all stare at her for a while before she continues. Clearly she was intending on us getting the message without her even having to explain it, but it has failed dramatically already. She rolls her eyes and says, "We need kills."

"Right..." one of the others mutters, their voice uncertain.

"We need kills and to do that, we are going to need a more effective plan," Petra continues, and a few of my allies nod or shake their heads.

"Oh," I say, a little too loud.

"Got an issue with that, Darryn?" she asks, glairing at me, and I just shake my head furiously.

"Not at all, Petra. I'm in total agreement with you." She nods once at me, her facial expression staying just as harsh as ever as she does so.

"Good. Arminta, any ideas?"

The smaller girl grins a little too enthusiastically and says, "Sure! Let me think a minute... um... okay, I've got one!" We all stare at her, irritated already. In truth, I'm a little bit worried that she will be the catalyst for the end of the alliance when the time comes. I don't think any of us can properly stand her anymore.

"I suggest that we split up for a while. Not break up the alliance altogether, but go around in groups. We're more likely to find a tribute that way. At the end of the day, we can all meet up somewhere. Maybe here, I don't know..." Towards the end, Arminta's voice sounds more uncertain but we're all nodding.

"Excellent," says Petra. "Lyndon, you can be in charge of the other alliance, I trust you enough to lead them well enough."

Lyndon smirks and says, "Okay." And though her response may be brief, it is clear to all of us that she feels full of pride right now.

"Good. I'll take Darryn. Lyndon, you can take Dynamo. I need capable people in both groups."

"What about me?" Arminta pipes up, and Petra glares.

"I was getting there. You may come along with either group. Choose."

"I choose Lyndon and Dynamo," she says, and I sigh in relief. Just Petra is far better than Petra and Arminta would be.

"Fine. Let's go then," Petra says, and we all grab our supplies. "We meet here in three hours, okay?" Lyndon nods, and then Petra begins to walk away so I follow her. Whatever happens out tribute hunting tonight, at least my ears will be getting a rest.

* * *

 _Castor Aconite, 18, First Male (District 11)_

It's getting later, and I'd guess it's at least 4pm by now. I haven't eaten all day, and I'm getting pretty desperate now. If I don't eat soon then I'll die for sure.

I don't want to die, not yet. That was the whole point in me volunteering - to extend my life!

Suddenly, though, I spot a blur of green and red in the distance and I go over to it to see what it is. It's a little bush, with perfect green leaves and gem-like red berries. Hungry for anything, I pick some off and shove them in my mouth. The juice is sweet and refreshing so I pick off a few more and eat them too.

Satisfied with my discovery, I start to pick some more for later and put them in my pocket. In the process of doing so, however, I fall to the ground in absolute agony. My skin is gradually turning green, bulbous, _zombie-like,_ and it's incredibly painful. It's only then that I look at the remaining few berries in my hand and remember them properly. Not their name, of course, but their agonising fatality. They're one of the worst berries there are, and I just ate a lot of them.

I manage to crawl forward, absolutely desperate for anything that can relieve the pain even the slightest bit, like water, but I don't find a lake. No - I find _tributes._

A rather frail-looking blonde girl notices me first, and her immediate reaction is to scream. "What is it? E- Elle? Are you okay? Has something happene-" The boy beside her seems genuinely concerned for her and it makes me wish I had an ally to comfort me right now. But of course, I do not have an ally, so I try not to dwell too much on my loneliness.

"Run!" she screams, grabbing the boy's wrist with her thin arm and running. Wide-eyed, the boy seems just as eager to escape as his companion is. One of the other girls sees me and runs also, although in a totally different direction. _Great,_ I think - sarcastially, of course. _You just managed to break up an alliance, Castor._

The last remaining member of the alliance, a girl with red hair, stares at me from a distance, looking confused more than anything. She isn't as terrified as the other three seemed to be, but she still looks slightly wary of me and my intentions. "Hello," she calls, her voice slightly shaky. "I- Is something wrong? Oh, gosh, um... that was a silly question. Um... look, _please,_ I don't want to die. Do I s- stay away from here to stay safe, o- or... or _what?"_

It seems like she can tell that I'm just another tribute and not some kind of twisted muttation so I take a pained step forward with the intention of warning her about the berries. If I wasn't in this situation then I probably wouldn't be helping her out, but right now I'm _dying_ and it's _painful_ and I wouldn't want for her to feel her insides burning if there was a way for her to avoid this torturous feeling. I'm just a human, after all, and the agony I'm in right now is something I doubt I would even wish on my worst enemy. However, it soon becomes apparent to me that I misunderstood her when she jumps back and screams. It seems she doesn't realise that I'm incapable of harming her after all.

"I'm n- not going to h- hurt you," I manage to choke out before I fall to the ground and take my final breath, and the deadly berries roll out of my palm.

* * *

 _Glair Clermont, 16, Second Male (District 2)_

It may be getting darker by the minute, but we are all still out hunting for tributes. Rhoena killed off that girl earlier today, but the other two cannons were not our doing. A second kill for the alliance in one day would be a good result indeed, especially since I very much doubt that the other two recently deceased tributes lost their lives at the hands of people from the same alliance as one another. In fact, the likelihood of that would be very low indeed.

We are nearly back to the cornucopia now, however, and the chances of us actually finding another tribute at all tonight are getting less and less with every moment that passes by. Sure enough, though, we do indeed find a tribute. Before she is even fully aware of our presence, Monique, Mason, and I have her surrounded, and Monique proceeds to move even further forward and pins her to a rock face.

The little girl starts fumbling about in her cardigan pocket and she pulls out a small bottle of clear liquid. She attempts to start unscrewing the lid when Mason snatches it from her and says, "What's this, hm?"

"W- w- water," the girl responds in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper. She looks to the ground, but Monique yanks her head up forcefully, making the girl whimper in pain. Mason smirks at her, and she smirks back. As much as I hate to admit it, the two of them make a great team. If I didn't know how to control my emotions then I would almost say I felt jealous of them... _almost._

"Don't lie to me," Mason growls. "See, I know that isn't water. You're about to die, you don't need to hydrate yourself. So tell me, what is it _really?_ Go ahead and satisfy my curiousity, won't you?" The girl shakes her head adamantly, and Monique slaps her to get her to stop it.

"Come on," she says in a voice that is deceptively sweet. "If you tell us, then maybe we can come to an agreement. Say... oh, I don't know, how about if you tell us its contents, then Mason here shall make your death a little bit less painful." She looks to Mason for approval, and he nods, so she continues. "You have nothing left to lose by withholding information from us - _nothing._ And yet you have _everything_ to gain from cooperation. You want to die a quick death, don't you...?"

The girl nods, and then she sighs. Both Monique and Mason are glaring at her, and it'd be enough to make even _me_ falter. The girl's got to be at least four or five inches smaller than I am, and she isn't trained either. She must be terrified. "It's po- poison..." she says meekly, and Tiara laughs from behind me.

" _You_ made poison?"

"Y- yes..." Suddenly, her face lights up slightly, and she adds, "If you let me live a little bit longer, I can show you how to make it."

For a moment, the girl seems to think that she has bought herself some time, but then Monique crouches down to her height. "I see. I don't suppose you think that any of us can make poisons, do you?" The girl shakes her head, but this time she seems more uncertain, and rightfully so, because Monique soon tells her, "Well, you see, I can make a basic poison myself. I don't _need_ your help with that, and with me around, neither do my allies. So, in case you still cannot understand me, I'll spell it out for you: I can do what you can, and there is no need for us to spare your pitiful life."

My ally from District 4 stands up properly again, and she and Mason turn to each other and nod in unison. Then, they both glare down at the poor girl as Mason digs a knife deep into her throat and drags it along. Her cannon sounds, and the two smirk. "Come on then," Mason says after he has took what little supplies she had. "Let's return now."

After a short trek back, we all settle down in the mouth of the cornucopia, Rhoena by Tiara on one side and Mason by Monique on the other. Me? Well, I've been left as the one on my own... yet again. I guess I'm going to have to rely on my own body heat tonight since I've been left without a partner. I'm over dwelling on it now, though - it's become the normal thing now for me, and I'm used to being the one left out of things in this alliance. I _am_ the youngest tribute in it, I suppose.

The Capitol anthem plays and the girl Rhoena killed earlier today shows first of all. Next, there comes another District 8 tribute. Today hasn't exactly been their lucky day, it seems.

As the skies reveal that the girl who Monique taunted and Mason killed was from District 10 and the face turns to that of the oldest boy from District 11, I smirk. Soon it will be my turn to kill, and I cannot wait for it.

 _ **40- Brietta Luna, D5f2 - Rhoena Lyter**_

 _ **39- Castor Aconite, D11m1 - ARENA**_

 _ **38- Eucalyptus Realms, D10f3 - Mason Slate**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 3 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake)**_

 _ **Mason: 3 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Castor: 1 (Peridott)**_


	45. Day 5, Part 1

_Kiora Plessant, 16, Second Female (District 6)_

I open my eyes and unfortunately it seems that these last few weeks haven't just been a terrible nightmare. I'm sitting on the arena floor, right where I was last night. The part where I'm meant to die soon? It's real.

It's very, very real.

My eyes fill with tears that I can barely fight back. Knowing that the Capitol would probably be laughing at me if I was on their screens right now, I try to pull myself back together.

 _Think,_ I tell myself. _Just think, Kiora - what would Clara be telling you to do if she was here?_

"She'd tell me to stop crying and work on staying alive," I whisper under my breath. My voice is so quiet that I doubt even the Capitol's cameras would be able to pick my words up, but considering that wasn't my aim, I don't really care. I need to work on my self-belief rather than focusing on what the multicoloured citizens of the wealthy city want from me - for now, at least, that is.

The worst thing is, I can barely remember my mentor's advice anymore. She told me so much and yet now I am left with only little remnants of our almost forgotten conversations. I can only imagine what she would want me to do at each step, and though that may be a risky decision to make there isn't exactly a viable alternative.

I mean, I can't exactly just sit here and wait for something to happen, can I? That would be suicidal!

Sighing, I force myself to stand. Though it makes every muscle in my body ache like crazy, I manage it without making too much noise. After all, the pain of being hit by an arrow would be much, much worse than _that_ is, and so screaming has never been an option.

I stumble a few steps, grabbing on hold of the various trees as I pass just to keep my balance. After a short period of time, my muscles don't hurt so much when I walk so my journey to goodness only knows where... well, it becomes slightly less painful for me.

My head hurts but I have no water, and those berries I ate two nights ago made my stomach feel a bit funny afterwards so I don't want to have to eat anything like those again - not if I can possibly help it. No - I need to find a lake somewhere... but I'm not sure if I'll reach one in time.

* * *

 _Scintillaea Ardor, 15, Second Female (District 5)_

Though it has been a while now, I am still adjusting to being all on my own in this arena. Aestus was a valuable and trustworthy companion, and now I don't have anybody to rely on. If I was to be entirely honest, I would have to say that I feel a little bit lost right now.

Except, I'm not being honest. I cannot afford that - not in the arena. I have to put on a brave face and try to trick myself into thinking that I'm totally fine.

But I'm not. And it's not working because I'm too broken for even the façade of self-confidence.

The autumn-esque breeze ripples through my hair and it sends a chill down my spine. I don't like it one bit.

Sighing, I force myself to get to my feet. Though my bones ache and the pain of the simple movement soars through my entire body and makes me want to scream out loud, I manage to stand up with just a few hisses of agony. Of course, I can't manage to do anything once I'm standing, but at least I'm on my two feet now rather than sitting down.

It's a start, I suppose. Not a very good one, I'll admit, but a small start nonetheless.

It's more than a minute ago, in short. I'm less vulnerable to predators than when I was on the ground, and that has to count for something - right?

After maybe ten minutes or so - time is a weird thing in the arena, I've found - I manage to finally walk a bit. Though it hurts like crazy, I force myself to keep moving forward. It's not safe to be in one place for as long as I was - not in the districts, even, but _especially_ not in the killing zone that is the arena.

* * *

 _Orchid Myles, 17, First Female (District 11)_

Therese moves even closer to me, the air seeming colder than ever today. Sure, we may be in a tent, but it doesn't offer too much additional warmth for us, unfortunately. Without Brietta providing extra body heat anymore, the chill seems to be getting to us even more than ever.

 _Brietta._ Until her face appeared in the sky last night, we were both able to hold on to the hope that she may have still been alive. At that moment, however, all of that hope was lost. We were emotional wrecks, we truly were.

Perhaps the worst thing, however, is not losing Brietta, but the fact that her being dead means that we still have no food. If neither of us risk what Brietta did, then Therese and I shall both also die for sure. For our dead ally's sake, we have to make sure that what she did was not entirely in vain.

We need to try to make one of us win.

Not wanting to put Therese through any more stress, I tell her that I'm going to go and get the food. Though she is reluctant to let me leave, she soon realises that there isn't really another option. "Okay," she says, "but be sure to come back soon. I don't want to be alone for too long, Orchid."

All I can do is nod, but her weak smile shows that she understands. We hug for a while, and then I exit the tent and begin to walk around in search of food.

I can only have gotten about fifty metres from the tent, only around one corner from where I left Therese and all our supplies, when I hear a high pitched scream. When the voice calls, "Help me! Help me!" there is no mistaking that the person in trouble is my ally. And even though I know that the right thing to do would be to go back and help her, I'm only human. I'm _scared,_ so I just run as far away as I can, as quickly as I can.

Soon, there is a cannon and I know that it is over now for her, and though I wish I could take a moment's rest to pay my respects to her, I know that it could be a fatal mistake so I just keep running until I practically flop to the ground by the cornucopia. Then, and only then, do I allow myself to mourn for her, and tears cover my entire face within minutes. Therese was my final ally remaining, and without her I am all alone.

In all honesty, I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to manage it.

* * *

 _Stevie Volt, 17, First Male (District 5)_

 _Shit,_ is all I can think as a giant tree starts chasing after me. _Holy shit, what the heck is happening to me?_

I practically drag my own feet behind me as I run, though I know it is a physical impossibility, and I don't stop until I hit a cliff with my face. I can already tell that there is some serious damage to my nose as I take a step back.

"W- what?" I mutter, utterly confused. There is no cliff, just... a tree?

 _Wait a minute, that's not right,_ I think. I think it because it is true: there was not a tree of any sort there a minute ago, no matter a strangely tall birch.

That's when I pay closer attention and I see its eyes. The tree that was once following me is now right in front of me. I gulp nervously - there is no way in Hell that this can end well, right?

Wrong.

As it bends down, revealing a mouth that opens around me head and prepares to bite, I close my eyes and yet the torturous beheading never occurs. When I open them up again, I find myself in an open field without a tree remaining in sight. I do, however, find myself surrounded by small rocks.

Oh, did I mention that I'm somehow flat on my face? Yeah...

I gulp and I realise just how dry my throat is. A terrifying thought pops inside my mind, and I am unable to shake it away: _Am I beginning to hallucinate?_ At this point, I can't think of much worse other than my practically inevitable death.

Of course, I know that there are other possibilities still, but it concerns me regardless. Some _body_ or some _thing_ is tricking me, and I'm not entirely sure if it is the gamemakers or my own mind.

 _ **37- Therese Patterson, D3f2 - Glair Clermont**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 3 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake)**_

 _ **Mason: 3 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Opal: 1 (Luka)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_


	46. Day 5, Part 2

_Pixel Circuit, 17, First Female (District 3)_

It may well only be the middle of the day, but I am _exhausted._ I mean, sure, the complete lack of nutrients in my non-existant food is likely to blame, as is the total absence of anything even _remotely_ resembling a decent night's sleep since I entered this arena, but still: I don't think it's exactly fair that I'm expected to act 'interesting' for the cameras when I am fearful for my life and practically fainting from exhaustion.

In all honesty? I'm really not sure as to how I am alive at this point in the Games. The very moment that I got reaped, I knew I was going to die. So did my best friend, Dem - that's one of the reasons it broke both of our hearts when I had to leave her behind in the district and get on that train to the Capitol. The point is, I'm fully aware that I should be dead right now. I'm already living on borrowed time, and as strange as it seems, that actually _bothers_ me. I would _rather_ be dead, because that is what the logical series of events would have allowed for. This _me-_ _being-alive-still_ thing? It shouldn't have happened, not by any means. No matter which way you look at the situation, I should have died by day three at the latest.

It's now day five and I'm still breathing. Barely, that is, but I'm still... well, I was going to say 'living', but that would imply a half-decent standard of life. 'Functioning to a semi-reasonable degree' or 'not yet dead' would be a better way to describe my current state.

I still haven't been sent a single sponsor gift, and that really fills me with confidence that people out there are backing me... or _not_ _._ Really, even just a small loaf of bread or some dried fruit would have been a nice gesture - at least it would have shown that my life is worth _something_ to _someone,_ even if it _is_ solely due to entertainment purposes.

The breeze is not any colder than it was back in District 3, I don't doubt, but in my utter lack of proper clothes it feels as though the air is frozen. _Yet another reason why I'll die soon - pneumonia or hypothermia or some other cold related condition._ I roll my eyes at the thought - goodness _only_ knows what I could die of in here. For all I know, a new disease could have been specially created for the Quarter Quell and is in the air surrounding me and in my lungs already.

I sincerely hope not, but I wouldn't rule it out altogether. I wouldn't put _anything_ past the gamemakers - they're a nasty breed of people.

I say breed... I suppose _technically_ they are the same as us people from the districts biologically, but our similarities end there. Deoxyribonucleic acid aside, gamemakers and tributes may as well be from two entirely different species.

My stomach starts to rumble loudly, and it makes me feel like cursing. As involuntary as the sound may be, it could still get me found and murdered. Really, it just proves that hunger is more than just a minor inconvenience - it can be fatal, and not just in the malnutrition sense.

I mentally scold myself for not being more interesting in the Capitol. Its citizens could have saved me in many ways, and I am seeing it more and more now. Alas, there is nothing I can do about that now. No - I need to stop dwelling on the recent past, and change what I do from now onwards.

After all, a single action could just end up saving my life.

* * *

 _Arminta Massina, 13, Third Female (District 2)_

Petra rolls her eyes at my request to stop and take a break from all this walking that the alliance is doing. "But, _Petra,"_ I hiss, trying to sound at least _slightly_ intimidating, "we've been walking for _hours_ now. Can't you see that it's physically exhausting?"

"I've told you already, no. Now, hurry up before I leave you behind."

I groan, though I'm careful that it's not too loud in case Petra scolds me again for it. I'm tired beyond what _should_ be humanly possible, and yet I am still just about functioning. Apparently, that's enough for Petra, who clearly couldn't care less about her aĺlies' wellbeing.

I could take it at first, but now I'm just sick of it... and her.

Over time, I gradually drop back within the group until I'm a good six or seven metres behind the person in front of me. And even though I am getting weak from the exhaustion, not a single one of my allies seems to have noticed. It makes me feel unwanted... almost entirely _worthless,_ to be really honest.

They don't give a damn about me - I doubt they ever really have, either - and as time goes on, it's getting clearer and clearer to me that I couldn't care less for them either. They're not even good company at this point.

I cannot take it any longer - I just _can't._ This is all too much for one girl like me to handle now, and it's time I take control of my own situation and sorted myself out again.

Yes - it's time for me to leave the group.

Sure, it's earlier than I would have initially liked, but I think that it is necessary now. Either I sort myself out or I die from my body being pushed too far, and I'd much rather take the option which involves me staying alive.

I decide on a place not too far in front of me to turn at, and I silently change my path from the one my so-called 'allies' have chosen to take. As soon as I am certain that I am out of earshot for them, I make a run for it. Though it drains me and I drop to the floor after what cannot have been more than 100 metres or so, I think I'm a safe enough distance away from my new worst enemies - Petra Silverwood and her loyal remaining followers.

* * *

 _Sherman Locke, 18, First Male (District 6)_

A boy and a girl appear in the distance, totally separated yet not seeming threatened by one another's presence, and their arrival interests me. " _Amber,_ " the boy hisses, and the girl sharply turns her head to glare at him.

I suppose they must be allies, and 'Amber' must be her name - or, at minimum, a nickname.

"What?" Amber asks in quite a quiet tone, walking quickly towards him.

"Look," he says, pointing to a place maybe twenty feet or so from me. Though it means he has not spotted me, I am sure to stay silent anyway. After all, I don't want him to turn his attention to me instead, do I?

The two walk towards where he pointed and the boy smirks, clearly overly proud of himself.

He's definitely a Career, and judging by the little I have heard of his accent and his mannerisms, I would say he is from District 1.

"No... no, _please,_ " a girl begs, though it isn't the District 1 boy's companion who is speaking. It is another person, someone entirely hidden from view. For some reason, her voice sounds vaguely familiar. As a curious person, it's only natural that I want to know who it is, so I quickly yet quietly walk closer until she is visible.

Her face is full of terror, the long hair framing it a total mess. Her bottom lip trembles, and I even feel slightly sorry for her. That's when I realise who it is: Kiora, one of my district partners. She always seemed sweet enough to me, and I hate the fact that someone so _innocent_ seems so terrified.

"Didn't your mother teach you, huh? Life's hard sometimes, and neither beauty nor manners will get you _anywhere_ in those moments." The boy smirks, but then he scans the girl's body. "That said, you are quite pretty. It'll be a shame when you're dead, you could've easily become truly beautiful someday if you'd have had the chance to grow up fully."

Kiora whimpers more, and suddenly I grow angry. _Is this how my girlfriend felt when she got killed?_ I wonder, and I'm not entirely sure if it stayed inside my head or if I said it out loud.

Thankfully, neither the boy nor the two girls react to me, so I guess it was only in my mind. It's a relief, though the brief moment of fear shocks me back into being sensible and not getting carried away with my thoughts.

I watch as the boy pulls out a knife - quite a dainty looking thing, if I may say so myself - and gently drags it across the side of her face. I gasp, and I cannot manage to conceal the noise as it escapes my mouth. Suddenly, the boy takes the blade away from Kiora's face and turns his head in my direction. Clearly sensing her final chance to escape, Kiora runs away from the scene. Thankfully for her, she is light on her feet, and neither the boy nor the girl seem to notice her absence until she is no longer at the scene.

 _Lucky girl,_ I think, knowing that my own fate is unlikely to be pleasant.

When they notice Kiora - or more like the _lack_ of Kiora, if I'm being specific - their faces turn red. "You let her get away!" the boy shouts, but rather than cowering away, Amber just glares at him.

"In part, but we both know that I'm not the only one to blame, Charming," she sighs. "She was your kill - _not_ mine."

'Charming' - whose name is a rather incorrect description of him, if you ask me - opens his mouth to argue back, but he seems to think the better of it since he just nods slightly at her.

"There was a sound over there," he says, pointing in my direction. "We should go and look. A substitute kill, if you like."

"Sounds okay to me," Amber says, sounding bored as anything. The arena has probably lost all of its interest to her by now, and she likely feels as though she is doing the same thing over and over again.

I should know - I've felt the same way myself at times, after all.

As they get nearer and nearer, I know that the logical thing to do would be to run, and yet I feel as though my feet are frozen to the spot. _I_ _t's likely in terror_ , I conclude.

"Well, well," Charming mutters under his breath, "what a surprise. It's a careless tribute who is causing all the trouble." His voice oozes sarcasm by the end, but I try to ignore it. If I am going to die, I want it to be over with soon, and I want to be the least terrified that is possible given the circumstances.

"Just get it over with," his ally groans, and I can't help but agree with her. I want to die quickly - not to suffer for hours before darkness claims me!

"Fine." He takes the still-bloody knife and walks towards me. Then, he drags its sharp edge across my throat, leaving me in total agony.

I finally get the courage to run away, but I don't act on it. At this point, any attempt to survive would be futile. No, I'm better off just letting myself fade away...

* * *

 _Lee Nettle, 18, First Male (District 8)_

In all honesty, I'm slightly surprised that I've managed to survive yet another day. I'm in an arena with goodness only knows how many tributes, many of whom have trained for almost their entire lives, and yet I haven't come across even one other human being yet? It's an unlikely situation, but it is mine, and I am grateful for it. If I were to stumble across a tribute who was even the slightest bit capable, I would be dead for sure. I would _never_ be able to kill them - I wouldn't want to - and I doubt I would remember to run. A Career? My final breath would likely be the very second I first saw them - that is, if I even got the chance to see them at all.

Confident that I am safe for now, however, I allow myself to sit and stargaze for a moment. Though I am aware that none of it is probably real, the stars - or 'stars', as they may be - are truly beautiful. They're a rare thing of innocence in a deadly place, and that brings me comfort.

After all, even the most untainted of tributes beforehand are now gradually turning into monsters.

I think about my best friend and my boyfriend back home - I wonder if Calvin would still like me like that if I got home somehow. After all, I'm not the nice boy who loves to read and draw anymore - I'm a _mess._

 _Draw._ I never did quite manage to add the final few finishing touches to the picture for Lizzie's birthday. Judging by the skill of my fellow tributes, I never will.

I'm at peace for a few minutes, all alone with Mother Nature, and I am free for the first time since I arrived in the _Capitol,_ no matter the actual arena! The rare tranquility means a lot to me. It reminds me that not _everything_ is evil, that there is some good remaining in this world.

It's the morale boost I've needed for several days now, really.

Suddenly, though, I hear the rustle of some leaves, almost as though someone is pushing some low branches out of the way. I gasp, and I am unable to hide it or make it slightly quieter before it escapes my mouth. Then, the sound stops momentarily, the silence unnerving me.

All of a sudden, a face peeks out from behind a tree trunk. I consider moving away, but I know that it would be a futile attempt, considering the fact that they have already seen me.

Gradually, the frame of a girl appears in a gap between two trees. She is not tall, but her features are cold and make her look intimidating irregardless of any minor inconveniences in the height department.

Her right arm appears to end at the elbow, and at first it looks as though somebody may have severed it - but then I see the joint and realise the dried blood on her jacket must be a cut at best... or at worst, another entirely different tribute's. She's still got both arms, and that's a concern for me. After all, the more able bodied she is, the more capable she is of ending my life.

Oh, who am I kidding? With one arm and no legs, she would still be able to kill me. To even contemplate my survival in this situation would be ridiculously naïve of me. No - I'm better off bracing myself for death than holding on to the slight glimmer of hope that maybe, just _maybe,_ I could survive.

 _But I don't want to do that._

I decide to try and blank it from my mind, and though it is hard I somehow manage it... somewhat. It's not the sort of thing you can realistically forget about altogether, is it?

Alas, just when I manage to come to terms and calm my nerves a little, she opens her mouth to speak.

"I'd have preferred my javelin," the young girl snarls, "but in its absence, this'll have to do." She moves her hidden hand from behind her back to reveal a sharp, silver knife, its blade not yet tainted with human blood.

I know her intentions already, and I'm not exactly sure how to prevent her from carrying them out.

"W- who are you?" I ask, my voice trembling. She smirks, sending shivers down my spine.

"My name's Opal. But maybe you'd prefer to call me 'The Girl Who's Going to End Your Pitiful Life', hm?" Opal - I refuse to think of what she just told me even more than I already am, even though I know how inevitable it is - laughs, and I close my eyes so I can't see her own manic expression. I could _swear_ that she's insane.

Unsure of what else to do, I nod slowly. Then, however, it occurs to me that there is nothing directly behind me. If I just turned and- _yes,_ that could work. I might still survive if I'm careful.

Of course, in scenarios such as this one, there is no such thing as 'careful', and I turn and run as fast as I can. I'm not even ten feet from her when I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. It must've been a sloppy throw, or else I would undoubtedly be dead already, but since she's already told me that it's not her weapon of choice I suppose that I shouldn't really be all that shocked.

Shaking, I turn to face her. She's frowning this time, clearly disappointed with her aim. She's not just standing like that for long, though, and before I can even brace myself, she has run at me and knocked me to the ground.

My breathing is heavy as she forcefully yanks my shoulder up from the ground to remove the embedded weapon, and it gets even heavier as she throws it back down again.

For someone so petite, she is awfully strong.

She wipes the blade clean on my cardigan, and it glitters under the moonlight. If I didn't know its lethality, I would even call it pretty.

Opal spins the knife, clearly trying to make a show out of my death to gain sponsors, and she purses her lips. Maybe she is debating how exactly to end my life - I honestly don't know what is going through her mind right now, and to be entirely honest, I'm not exactly sure I would _want_ to know.

She seems to finally settle on my chest since that is where she raises the knife above, but then the Capitol anthem plays and she falters. In the sky is the seal of the city, and it seems to captivate her.

Her hand gradually moves as she stares, and it - and the knife - is now hovering over my forehead. When she looks down at me, she notices this, though it doesn't seem to bother her. Instead, she gives a slight shrug and brings the silver weapon down to my face with force before the first deceased tribute can even appear amongst the stars.

As the knife pierces the skin above my brow, my entire body freezes. I hear and feel my skull break and then the blade lodges itself deep inside my head and the pain is unbearable... but not for long, since she clearly knows how to kill efficiently.

I guess there will be another face showing in the sky.

 _ **36- Sherman Locke, D6m1 - Charming Heartsong**_

 _ **35- Lee Nettle, D8m1 - Opal Mahogany**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 3 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_


	47. Day 6, Part 1

_Giana Acacia, 14, Third Female (District 7)_

Even before my eyes have fully opened, I begin to turn my head in various directions, looking around even though my sight is rather limited by my half-closed eyelids. I suppose it's an instinct that I've developed - a way of checking for any predators, even when it's not much use.

I don't exactly want to become a meal for a mutt, do I? Neither would I want to get killed by an onlooking Career tribute as I wake from my surprisingly peaceful slumber, so the action itself is only logical. Besides, without mascara all over them, my eyelashes block a lot less than I'd have expected.

After I am content that I am alone, I allow myself a brief moment to close my eyes and just daydream. Sure, I may have just gotten several hours of pleasant sleep, but a girl still needs a little happiness in the hours when she is awake too, right?

I think of my life back home and my friends, and my family. Irritatingly, though, that just triggers memories of my sister. Azalea: Panem's most pathetic excuse for a supposed 'role-model', and the girl I killed.

Though I'm glad I killed her, I can't help but wonder how it will have affected the people I love to watch it. Would have they ever expected it? I very much doubt not. The people are all probably looking at their mayor in a different way now because of me, and I don't think that'll serve me well when I'm victor.

Looking back at it, maybe I should have given them some form of warning...

As my happy thoughts turn sour, I decide to just open my eyes and accept the arena for what it is. After all, it's no more nightmarish than anywhere else would be for me now, right?

* * *

 _Troye Pacifica, 18, First Male (District 4)_

I sit the exact same way I have since I arrived in the arena: legs crossed, back hunched, and head bowed down slightly towards the ground. It's not the most comfortable way to sit, no. But it is both the way that is the most practical, and the way that requires the least effort.

Since preserving my energy is a key thing in here, it's a sensical thing to do, sitting this way...

Sighing in absolute boredom, I reach into my small bag and take out some things from within. I can spend my time trying to make a trap.

The thing is, I've tried to make a trap out of these supplies many, many times now, and it just hasn't worked yet - not even _once._ There is absolutely no reason whatsoever that will make it more likely to be successful this time, and yet I decide to try again regardless of this fact. I have nothing better to do with my time in the arena, anyway.

In front of me, I lay out a slightly blunt knife, some kind of plastic-looking rope-thing, and some wood. When I inspect it more closely, I can see that the 'rope' is beginning to fray... and badly. Really, I'm unlikely to get more than two or three final attempts at making something using it.

I'm going to have to make today's efforts really count.

I use the point of the knife to stab a hole in the wood. It takes an absolute _eternity_ , and by the time it is done, there are cracks all around the small gap. Trying my utmost to remain undeterred by the situation, however, I take the rope and start to thread it through. It takes several attempts, but eventually it works.

As lame as it may sound, it is the furthest I have gotten in a while.

Realising that, no matter what I elect to do at this point, the overall trap is going to be rather atrocious, I decide to just tie some fancy-looking knots in the hope of grabbing the attention of some airheaded sponsor in the Capitol. Hopefully, with their help I'll be able to get some _real_ materials to make traps. If I was to be _really_ lucky, I might even get gifted some kind of explosive!

Grinning from the thought of people truly believing in me in spite of the unimpressive things I've done so far, I begin to weave in even more of the rope, tying it in even more complicated knots.

If _anything_ can save me at this point, it is going to have to be this.

All of a sudden though, I hear a sudden snap. Looking down at my hands, I see my rope broken in two. No matter how good my knot tying may have been, I am doubtful about whether I'll be able to recover from something like this - an obviously accidental breaking of my resources. Right now, if the cameras are focusing on me, everybody watching will see me as somebody who is mildly clumsy, and perhaps even a bit careless. And since each year's Hunger Games is compulsary viewing for the entire of Panem, that's a whole lot of people...

I drop the now-defunct trap that I had been working on and allow myself to lie down. This is just one thing too many now. I mean, it's almost as if somebody is _purposely_ making my luck permanently bad.

By now, as a trained Career I should have gotten at least two or three sponsor gifts, right? But no - I haven't received a single thing. All I have is what I have found, most of which is evidently left over from previous tributes - likely having dropped out of their own bags. _Surely_ this shouldn't be happening... unless... no... my mentor wouldn't have given up on me, right?

Are they even allowed to do that?

I shake my head, internally scolding myself for thinking such a thing. Obviously, the arena's just getting a hold on me. I'll get a gift soon enough... hopefully...

* * *

 _Ellia Reyner, 16, Second Female (District 2)_

"Shit," is the word which wakes me up from my nap, and it makes me groan. I'm still overly tired, and I _swear_ that that was nowhere even _close_ to the two hours Seb told me he would leave me alone for. "Um... Elle?"

"What? I swear, this had better be important, Sebastian, or-"

"It is, I promise." I sigh - it's clear to see that my luck in the arena is as terrible as ever. I mean, is it _really_ too much to ask for just _one_ stress-free day?

"Tell me then," I say impatiently, wanting to get back to my slumber as soon as possible.

"I heard a noise." My eyes go wide in alarm, and I crawl over to where my ally is. And yes, by crawl I really do mean on my hands and knees - I'm just _not_ in the mood for putting in unnecessary effort right now, okay?

"A noise, you say?"

"Yeah," he mutters, and when I look at his face I see nothing but fear and concern in his features.

"What kind of a noise was it?" Though I know that I must sound comical to the Capitol's citizens (if the cameras are even watching us right now, that is), I'm being deadly serious. If it's a tribute, then it could be a Career, and they could kill us. If it's not a tribute, then it could be a mutt instead, and they could also kill us.

Really, there are many ways that this could have an unhappy ending for Seb and I.

"Like... _footprints,_ " Seb whispers, and I suddenly become conscious of the volume of my own voice. "You know when you walk on leaves and they make that _horrible_ crunching sound beneath your feet? Like that."

I don't know how to respond to that, not _really,_ and the only word that slips out of my mouth is, "Oh," which, technically speaking, probably isn't even a word at all.

"Yeah," he whispers, and then we are silent, just staring in the general direction that the noise apparently came from. Wary of what it could end up being, I grab a knife and hold its handle securely in my dominant hand. Sweat makes my palms feel sticky, but that doesn't prevent me from grabbing Seb's hand tight with my own spare hand. I'm nervous, and if I'm entirely honest, I just need somebody to steady me right now.

The rustling sound continues, getting louder and louder until I cannot take the suspence any longer. I let go of my ally, whose head immediately turns to see what has thrown me, and I release the lethal blade from my hand. Seb winces, and it makes me wonder exactly what I have done.

That's when I see it... 'it' being a _boy._ More specifically, a boy with the very knife I just threw firmly lodged near to the centre of his chest. For such a clumsy aim, I hit him unfortunately well. He is in pain - I can see it on his face, like it's burning through his body.

Perhaps _actually_ burning would have been a kinder death for him, even. He'd be feeling less, that's for sure. Right now, however, he is suffering, and I hate it. And 'it', in this case, is not just his struggle, but also the knowledge that _I_ was the one to cause it. It wasn't Mason or Petra, or one of their allies. Neither was it even my own sole remaining ally, Seb... but rather me. I did this myself, and I shall be the one to face the consequences in my inevitable nightmares for evermore - or, for as long as my 'forever' happens to be, at least...

"Seb," I choke as my unsuspecting victim falls to the floor, and I grab my ally's arm. As the cannon sounds, he pulls me into a hug. The clothes on his shoulder must be soaked through with my tears within minutes, but he does not seem to care about that. No, he seems more concerned about me right now, and he just pulls me closer.

"Shh, Elle," he whispers into my ear. "I know it hurts, but you've got to be strong for the Capitol, okay? The camera is probably on you right now, you _know_ that already, so just put on a brave face... you can do it, I know you can. You're strong, Elle. You'll manage it." His voice is soft yet strangely encouraging, and what he says makes a lot of sense, so I wriggle out of his embrace, wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, and nod at him. He smiles, and I fake one back at him.

Seb seems content that I am fine, though deep inside I really am not, but I don't want sadden him any more than I already have done. One of us needs to stay strong for the both of us, and right now that one is him, and I'm not going to risk damaging that. "Come on, let's get out of here," he mutters, grabbing our things and shoving them inside the bags. Once he is satisfied with how securely they are closed, he throws the smaller one at me, startling me as the flying object narrowly misses my left arm. "Oops," he says with a sly grin, and I laugh, even though it's probably not nearly as funny in reality as it seems to me. It feels natural, though - _normal,_ even, and basic _normality_ is hard to come by in here.

I retrieve the bag, sarcastically rolling my eyes at my ally as he sticks out his tongue at me, and then we quickly evacuate the area. No matter how far we go from the body, however, only one thought fills my mind and, try as I might, it refuses to leave - no matter _what_ I attempt to do.

 _I killed him._

* * *

 _Leone Strauss, 16, Second Male (District 6)_

As time goes on, the arena is getting less and less interesting. As the death toll rises, the amount of tributes for me to hunt down decreases, and I'm not happy about it. Why couldn't they have just replaced each dead tribute with yet another weak child? It would have made it a lot more enjoyable for the _real_ tributes - like me.

The thing is, I don't think that some of the little ones realise just how brutal I can be. Neither do they realise how cruel humanity is as a whole. We are a species born to be vile, and they're just in pathetic denial.

I sigh, allowing myself to just take some rest in the peaceful silence.

 _FIGHT IT!_ screams a little voice in the back of my head, startling me. It sounds strained, almost as if it's trying too hard to get through to me.

Alas, I do not know what this voice wishes me to fight. Perhaps it has seen a tribute that it wishes me to kill - in which case, it's quite a helpful little thing, and I'd appreciate keeping it around for the time being.

Hopeful, I grab my beloved baton, each of the spikes bloody with tiny pieces of my past victims' corpses, and take a look around. I can see nothing that is out of place, but in the past my eyes have been known to deceive me at times, so instead of just abandoning my plans to add another point on my tally, I take a moment to be silent, listening out for any rustling which I perhaps could have missed.

Again, there is nothing. _That stupid, high-pitched voice is useless,_ I tell myself. _It was lying - it's a_ liar. _Take no notice, Leone._

 _PLEASE!_ squeals the voice again, and I begin to crack my knuckles in annoyance. _I'M BEGGING YOU, TAKE BACK CONTROL! THIS ISN'T THE TRUE YOU, YOU'RE-_

"I'm _what?"_ I shout, fully aware of the fact that I must look insane to those who are watching me right now. (Besides, I think that everybody is _slightly_ crazy - it's what keeps us human). Annoyingly, the voice never responds to my anger. No, it just keeps on being silent.

I should be glad, really, considering that it misinformed me about tributes being nearby. It was unfair of it to get my hopes up, and yet I feel strangely attached to the thing that just popped into my head so suddenly. It's almost as though I recognise it - it feels rather familiar to me.

Of course, I have no idea _why_ it seems this way. It could be some sort of invisible muttation that is manipulating me into thinking this way, for all I know. And yet...

And yet _nothing._ I must be making this all up inside of my head - I _have_ to be making it up. It's all just too _absurd_ to be real... isn't it?

 _ **34- Stevie Volt, D5m1 - Ellia Reyner**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 3 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ellia: 1 (Stevie)**_

 _ **Arminta: 1 (Persimmon)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_


	48. Day 6, Part 2

_Kozuki Shamiko, 15, Second Female (District 4)_

" _CLODAGH!"_ I scream in frustration. I _still_ haven't gotten any sponsor gifts, and as a girl from District 4, I know just how unrealistic that is. It's rare for someone to not even get a _shared_ gift if they're from my district, and sure, that's impossible for me since I have no allies to share with... but I'm sure that there should be enough funds at the moment for me to have at least a piece of bread or some dried fruit or _something,_ right?

I wait in silence for perhaps two or three minutes, yet nothing comes. Either she's not looking right now, or she's ditched me yet again - _just_ like how she did in the Capitol, always hanging around with that Sebastian rather than me, despite the fact that _he_ isn't her tribute and _I_ am. If I win and discover that the latter really is the case, then I would be so, _so_ angry with her - even more so than I already am!

 _Calm down, Kozuki,_ I tell myself. I'm letting my emotions take control of me, and that's a dangerous thing for me to do. Screaming out the name of my supposed 'mentor' in the first place was risky enough, I can't afford to do anything else that might put me in even _more_ danger. If there are any tributes in the area...

I shake my head vigorously. If there were any nearby, then they'd have killed me already. They've had several minutes to do so, after all. I must be alone at the moment.

Actually, if I think about it that way, then screaming 'Clodagh!' was actually a good thing for me to have done. Sure, I don't think it'd be worth risking again, since there's a high chance that it would end badly for me, but at least it means that, for now, I can be certain that I am in relative safety. I'm fairly certain that the same can't be said for most of the other tributes, so that surely puts me in a favourable position right now.

I _mustn't_ give up hope yet - I'm not daft, I can see that there is still a miniscule chance of my survival. That in itself is worth holding on to.

Ko suddenly pops into my mind, and it makes me smile. But then, almost immediately, it has the opposite effect also. My chance of survival is still very low, and if I die then he's going to be on his own again. The thought makes me start to cry.

Aware that looking weak isn't good when you're in the arena, I sit down and put my face to my knees in an attempt to hide my tears. Sure, I probably look really weird right now because of it, but I suppose it could just look like I'm cold.

Who knows? Perhaps it might make somebody feel sorry enough for me to pay for a blanket! Looking like I am freezing could definitely have its benefits...

When my tears cease to fall, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and sit in a more _comfortable_ position, my legs properly extended rather than being scrunched up. By the absence of a parachute, I suppose that nobody feels _that_ sorry for me.

 _Oh well,_ I tell myself, mentally scolding myself for becoming so desperate for some form of recognition. _You can do this on your own - it's what you're best at, after all._

* * *

 _Oliver Hawkins, 18, First Male (District 7)_

I can't believe that I'm still alive. Honestly, I can't. People like me are supposed to be one of the first few to die, but that hasn't happened in my case. Because I am still here... still alive... and it scares me more than anybody would ever manage to believe.

Most people would be glad to still be living, yes. But not me. It's unnerving me, because I know that I am now into borrowed time. I should have died several days ago - in the _Bloodbath,_ even. But I didn't. And that's fundamentally wrong in every single way.

At this point, the sooner that Death takes me, the better. He is holding back for some reason, and I hate it. I _hate_ it. I need some kind of certainty, and this isn't giving me _any_ certainty _whatsoever._

At least half of the others must have died by now, I'd guess. And that's scary. I'm trapped in some tiny area where tens of innocent boys and girls have lost their lives in the past few days. It's horrific, it honestly is...

I know that I'm not coping well in the slightest, and I know that I'm probably causing Margret so much stress right now. It's not fair on her. I mean, it'd be worse if I was her actual, biological child, but since she seems to have seen me that way regardless, I doubt she's faring _that_ much better than she would have been if I was her real son. When I die, it'll still hurt her.

 _Don't be such a pessimist,_ I try to tell myself meekly. _You got a seven in training, surely that's got to be worth something..._

I scoff. "Yeah, right, Oliver. You're nowhere near as capable as the other tributes are. Maybe you weren't the worst originally, but you are now. There are too many Careers left for you to make it out of this absolute shithole."

I think of how _lavish_ everything was in the Capitol, and then look at my surroundings. Just like back home in District 7, I again have _nothing._ Those Capitol people, they have _everything_ that I could have ever wished for _and more._ I know that I keep saying it (never aloud, thank goodness), but it's the truth: the system is just too fucked up.

I'm beyond caring now. I want to do Margret proud, I really do... but I know that I can't anymore. I have no sponsors backing me, for a start. Everything I do or say is utterly hopeless. I may as well just give up already.

Actually, thinking about it, I practically have given up already...

Oh, gosh. I wonder how ashamed Margret is feeling about me right now? She won't be acting the proud mother at this moment, _that's_ for certain...

* * *

 _Monique Zale, 18, First Female (District 4)_

"Shut _up,_ Mason," I say with a groan. I mean, my ally is great and all - we get along really well - but he can be a little _too_ self-assured at times. And yes, right now is one of those times.

Mason turns to me and frowns. "Who's the alliance leader, Monique?" he taunts, and I roll my eyes.

"Who's your second-in-command, Mason?" I snap back. He nods his head, like he's acknowledging my point, and I smirk. He may technically be my superior in this arena, but without my support he has no way of making the rest of the alliance comply. I could easily overthrow him, and he knows that.

In short, he _needs_ me right now, and that's a great feeling for me.

"Hey, Mason, Monique - come here," calls Glair, and I roll my eyes. When I look at Mason, I see him doing the same.

"What's wrong with Tiara? She's literally right by him..." he mutters under his breath, and I poke him to let him know I can hear his words.

"You're the leader, Mason. As annoying as Glair can be, you're still the one he has to look up to." I force a smile, and he forces one back. "Good," I say, "now you can fool him into thinking that you're actually interested in what he has to say."

Mason laughs, and it's infectious (like laughter often is). Within mere seconds, I find myself laughing along with him, despite the fact that I'm not all too sure whether or not it's deemed socially acceptable to laugh if it's because of something _you_ said where he comes from.

Based off of my ally's lack of reaction, I'm going to go with it being okay.

"Guys," calls Glair impatiently, "come here." I raise my eyebrows at Mason, letting him know that maybe it'd be best to see what our younger ally needs to tell or show us, but Mason just smirks at me.

"Leave it, Monique. He's just trying for attention again, I'll bet. He's probably sick of being on his own or something."

"On his own?" I question. "He's in a powerful alliance of five - I'd _hardly_ call that being 'alone', would you?"

Mason sighs, then takes a seat on the ground. I sit right beside him, silently glad of any rest whatsoever that I can get. "Well, yes. I have you, and Tiara has Rhoena. Glair's the odd one out, Monique. I mean, he brought it on himself by being the least agreeable one. It's his own damn fault."

I frown again, slightly confused at what he is saying. "I'd have said that Rhoena is slightly less agreeable than Glair is, Mason. I don't get your point."

"To you maybe, yes. But evidently not to Tiara, and I'd rather not create any unnecessary additional tension in the group if it can be avoided." Inside my head, it occurs to me that perhaps ignoring Glair right now could have the negative consequences that Mason wishes to avoid, but I keep my mouth shut. Mason and I get along really well, and I don't want to ruin that by some stupid comment, do I?

Instead, I mutter, "Yeah," and he nods. Tired from the long day, I rest my head on his shoulder in an attempt to find some mildly comfortable position to get some sleep in. Mason doesn't even flinch, clearly not bothered by me in the slightest, but Glair soon storms over.

"I'm out there, trying so hard to be a great alliance member and prove myself to you, but instead of paying any attention, you just decide to do what? Snuggle up together and take a nap? Why, I'm surprised there's not some stupidly fluffy blanket out already..."

"Glair, shut up," Mason says. "If Monique is tired, then she is tired. Let the girl rest, okay?"

For a minute, he looks to be contemplating what Mason has just said, but then he shakes his head and glares at us. Then, he explodes. "No. I won't shut up, and I definitely shaln't be leaving you alone so she can 'rest'. Why should it be one rule for you two and another for the rest of us? I mean, if it was you alone then I'd get it - leader's privileges and all, but she's not you. So stop treating her differently! It's not fair!"

Mason stays quiet for longer than I expected, as though he is choosing his next words carefully. "Glair, I think you should leave. She is my second-in-command, you know that. _Of course_ I treat her differently. Monique and I, _we_ are your _superiors._ You shouldn't challenge us. I'll spare your life for now if you go within the minute." I life my head off his shoulder and stare at him in shock. Surely he can't be suggesting to break apart the alliance already... can he? Especially not over something so _petty..._

" _Mason,"_ I hiss, but he just glares at me in a way that clearly says _I know what I'm doing, trust me._ Though it goes against my better judgement, I decide just to stay out of this whole thing. Not only does sleep sound like something my body deperately needs, it also sounds like a great distraction from this mess that the alliance has gotten into so suddenly.

Our alliance's youngest member nods a couple of times. "Fine then. I'll go, but you'll soon be regretting your decision, I'll tell you now..." Then, he is gone.

"You didn't have to do that," I mutter, resting me head back on Mason's shoulder.

"Oh, but I did. He kept pushing it, it was his own damn fault. He should have acceoted his position in the alliance _days_ ago. Now, stop fretting and just get some goddamn sleep if you're actually going to, or get up and start moving." Though is words sound a little harsh, there is no malice in them. I think he must have figured out by now that I'm not afraid of him, and it's honestly much nicer for me to be in an alliance with somebody who knows I am strong than in an alliance with somebody who doubts me.

After a short period of time, Tiara appears with Rhoena in tow. "Glair just left the area. Why would you send him out alone? That increases his chance of death, you know," she says, a strange mix of grief and joy plastered on her face. I decide not to question it.

"I let him," says Mason. "I told him to leave so he did. Now stop bothering me or I'll tell you something similar."

All I can say is that, clearly, Tiara is a girl made of steel, because at the idea, she doesn't even flinch.

"Point taken."

* * *

 _Orchid Myles, 17, First Female (District 11)_

It's dark and it's cold tonight. Sure, the moon has a faint glow, and the stars are shining bright yellow amongst the fields of black, but neither of those can make the arena light enough for me to feel truly safe inside of it. Not now, when my allies are both gone forever. My only comforts in here... still dead, and now gradually fading from memory.

My solitude is enough to make one burst out in tears, I would say. But I am not that person. No - I am strong. I can keep putting on a brave face.

That is what I keep telling myself, and that is what I shall continue to do.

The thing is, without courage, I'll be dead by the morning - that's pretty much guaranteed. Anybody who loses all hope just... well, _dies._ There's no nicer way of putting that - not really. As long as I keep telling myself that _yes,_ I can still do this, then at least I've got a small chance of making it.

I decide to sit down - it's been a long day, and I need rest. Therese and Brietta wouldn't have wanted me to die after wearing myself out too much. If I'm going to die, I want it to be for a reasonable reason. An attack is reasonable, because death seems inevitable that way. Fainting is _not_ reasonable, because that would be something that could have been avoided.

If I keep on being sensible, I won't end up dying a stupid death. Since my chance of winning is so miniscule, that's probably my best option right now.

I start to sing an ancient lullaby under my breath. It's no louder than the wind itself, so there's no way it could alert a tribute. I just want it to send me to sleep so that I'm alert enough tomorrow to face whatever comes for me.

Just as I can feel sleep reaching out to claim me, a hear a noise.

I gasp - was that... _footprints?_ The thought unnerves me greatly, because I don't wish to die just yet. I've planned for it to maybe happen sometime, yes, _but not tonight._ Then again... what is there left for me to live for? My allies are dead, and my district will look at me differently if I come home a victor anyway. To win, I'd have to kill _children,_ and I couldn't ever bring myself to do that...

Suddenly, the prospect of death sounds much more appealing to me. Accepting my immediate - _and only_ \- future is likely for the best at this point, and that means I need to come to terms with my inevitable death... and fast, if I heard what I think I just did.

With a sigh, I lean back until I'm lying down and staring at the starry sky. I'm too tired to run from my fatal destiny - and besides, knowing my luck I'd run straight into a murderous tribute, sacrificing my precious last few minutes in the process. I don't know what direction the tribute (or mutt, though I hope it is a tribute for muttations are far less kind) is coming from. If I stay lying here and just close my eyes, there's a small chance that I could be fully at ease by the time they come, and I would die in peace.

I'd like that to be my end - a calm death, without any unnecessary suffering.

It seems like next to no time whatsoever before there is a girl hovering over me. I open my eyes and see that she looks awfully tall, what with her standing upright while I am on the ground, though I seem to remember her being rather short in reality.

Perception can be a very strange thing indeed.

"Please," I say, looking right into her eyes, "I don't want to hurt you. Just end it quickly, okay?" My voice is surprisingly steady, and after a few moments, the girl nods.

"Very well. You're lucky I'm so tired myself - if not, I doubt that I would be so merciful..."

And to her credit, she does as she says. She stabs me right in the centre of my forehead with a knife, and it's barely a second before I can feel myself drifting away...

 _ **33- Orchid Myles, D11f1 - Arminta Massina**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 6 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 3 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ellia: 1 (Stevie)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_


	49. Day 7, Part 1

_Lyndon Meyers, 16, Second Female (District 1)_

I wake up to the sound of rustling leaves. I open my eyes, sit up with a slight groan, and turn to my left - the side the sound is coming from - and I see Dynamo tossing and turning rather furiously. He's having a nightmare, I'd guess. Perhaps it should surprise me, or concern me, maybe, but I am not bothered by it. Sure, more sleep would have been nice, but losing maybe half an hour at most shouldn't be too much of a bother for me later. It won't make me _that_ much more tired. Besides, it may as well be expected of a tribute from District 3. I doubt he was as well prepared for the arena's horrors when he volunteered as us from the actual Career districts were.

"Nice to see you awake," Darryn groans, and I turn my head sharply. I hadn't realised he had also been woken up. I smile.

"Yeah. It sucks," I reply, before getting to my feet and going over to him. In the end, I settle on leaning against a tree which is maybe two feet from him. "When did you wake up?"

"A while ago. I'm a very light sleeper, it seems. Annoying, yes, but in the Hunger Games, I don't think it can do too much harm. After all, at least I'll be able to tell if someone is coming to attack me, right?" I think over what he has said for a minute before nodding. It makes perfect sense, after all. If another tribute comes to attack during the night, being woken up would give you the chance to grab your weapon and fight back. He's quite fortunate, really.

"Yeah, you would," I settle on saying with a grin. He smiles back at me, and for a moment I feel grateful for what good company my competant allies can be... but then Petra walks over to us and glares. Sure, she's a great alliance leader and all, but she can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.

Which is actually most of the time, unfortunately.

"When did you wake?" I question her, but she just rolls her eyes.

"Not important, Lyndon. What _is_ important, however, is our plan for the day. Since we are one girl down..." Petra is positively fuming at this point. Sure, she hated Arminta, but she can't bear that she abandoned us. None of us like it, but Petra has taken it more personally than Darryn, Dynamo, and I have. She thinks we'll lose sponsors because we seem unwanted, and none of us have been daring enough to challenge her reasoning.

"What are we going to do then?" Darryn asks, his voice steady and calm. It's a relief to know that at least _one_ of my allies is being rational right now.

"We're splitting again. Darryn, you will be coming with me. Once he awakes, Dynamo will go on his own. He's the least valuable one remaining, so I'd rather put him in danger than you two. And then obviously, there's you, Lyndon. You'll stay here and guard our supplies."

"But, _Petra,"_ I groan, "we normally just take them with us!"

"Not anymore," she says sharply, and then she walks away to wake Dynamo up. "We meet back here at the end of the day," she calls as she goes.

* * *

 _Bug Huxley, 17, First Male (District 3)_

 _The Careers._

That is the first thought that comes into my head when I hear faint footsteps and laughter. None of the other tributes would be happy enough to _laugh,_ for goodness' sake! No, there's no doubt about it: the people nearby are Career tributes, and that makes them trained killers.

If they notice me, I'm automatically dead. Well... okay, not that very _second,_ sure. But give it a minute or so and I may as well be, because I am no match for them in battle.

Not wanting for my life to end yet, I quietly hide somewhere that is close to my former position yet safely out of their view, and I do my best to be as close to silent as I can be. The amount of noise I make could easily end up being the difference between life and death for me. I have a girlfriend back home, and _somebody_ needs to look after my little sister, because my mother can't do it alone. As easy as it would be to just give myself up and move into the next world, I can't give up all hope yet, as much as I keep feeling like everything I do is totally futile.

Besides, I don't _want_ for Technika's only influence as she grows up to be that of a prostitute. And though I know that Mæddi will try to look after her when I die, it seems wrong that she might ever get put in that situation. Looking after your own siblings is fine, but becoming a second mother to your dead boyfriend's younger sister? That's no real life to have to live, and she deserves so much better.

I _want_ her to have a life that is so much better than the one I know she'll give herself if I die. Being reaped isn't meant to affect this many people, I swear, but in my case, it will.

This isn't the time to be thinking about that, though. If I'm not careful, it'll make me cry, and sobs are bound to attract the Careers' attention. No - I have to stay strong, put on a brave face.

So that's what I do, and I'm coping remarkably, but then everything changes. The footprints stop, my heart starts to beat almost at the speed of light, and a girl and a boy begin to have a muttered conversation that is inaudible to me. _Could they have seen me somehow?_ I wonder, but I shake my head. Hopefully, they're too far away to even stand a _chance_ of seeing me, but I can't be certain about anything right now. Then, however, there is a high-pitched scream, followed by louder chatter and even some more laughter. _They're such sick human beings,_ I think, really wanting to go up to them and tell them that to their faces, but staying put since that would be a fatally ridiculous idea.

Soon, a cannon sounds, and I hear them walk away, joyful as ever. I let out a sigh of relief, thankful that I am still alive. But then I think of the poor girl - well, they _sounded_ like a girl to me - who just died, and I gulp. I'm still in danger. And even though I'm not yet lying motionless in a morgue, these last few minutes have made me feel sure that I will be soon...

* * *

 _Rowan Leyton, 12, Third Male (District 12)_

The arena is no place for a child, and that's exactly what I am still: a child. See, there are muttations and murderous Career tributes all around, and yet I was still sent in here. It's just plain wrong - _that's_ what it is.

I wouldn't be at all surprised if I happened to be the youngest tribute left alive now. Heck, I'm not even sure if there are any 13-year-olds alive either! It's actually horrific. I know that there is nothing left for me in District 12, what with my parents being dead and all... but still, I long to return. Anywhere would be better than in here, though. Even _death_ would be favourable.

Perhaps when I die, I might get to see my family again. It's been a while, and I miss them so much. We might not have had the best lifestyle possible when I was a small child, but our world was comfortable enough. Now, more than ever before, I feel _scared._ There's nobody looking out for me. I mean, I was _supposed_ to have Leone in here, but since I didn't find him at the start... well, there's no hope at all for me now, is there?

There is literally not a single person left who cares about me, except perhaps my mentors. But then again, I don't remember seeing Amber's face in the sky yet, and since she's so much older and so much more capable than I am, they're probably rooting for her instead. I have no hope left for me _whatsoever._ I may as well have just given up already.

After all, being in a place like this all alone, with no support... I'm not going to last that much longer. I've had to accept that now. It'll make it much easier for me when the fatal time actually does come around, whether that ends up being in a couple of hours or in a few days.

There's a chill in the air today, and it makes me wish that the arena outfit didn't leave a lot of the skin on my thighs exposed to the elements. I mean, whose stupid idea even was these outfits? Brightly coloured crop tops with grey nylon beneath them is one thing, but shorts and stockings? There really was no point whatsoever - the standard jacket and trousers would have been _much_ better. As would have boots have been better than these _stupid_ cotton pumps that I'm stuck in.

There's no use in complaining about the clothes I've been given, though. _Especially_ not at this point in the Games. Moaning in the arena is pointless, and above all else, it could turn the Capitol against you. And if that happens, then there's a much higher chance that the Gamemakers will send in a muttation of some kind to finish you off in a painful manner. And I _really_ don't want that to be my outcome.

* * *

 _Radia Redix, 15, Second Female (District 9)_

I still miss my family. I'll never get to see those who weren't reaped ever again, because for that to happen, I'd have to be the eventual victor. And with all these Careers and other capable tributes remaining, I'm fully aware of the fact that I haven't got a chance in Hell of surviving this thing.

And then there's the deal with my other two siblings - Centra and Riley. Well... I say 'siblings'... I suppose they are technically my former siblings now, though I could never refer to them that way aloud - _ever._ Even though they are gone, they're still family. And I still love them because of it, no matter what universe they may be living in now.

All I can say is that hopefully, their new home is a happier one than Panem is.

I keep walking through the forest, thinking about my life back home. Eventually, I see something that makes me stop, though: another tribute.

He doesn't look harmful - in fact, he looks rather harmless, despite the fact that he's quite clearly one of the older ones. I consider going over to him, since some company in here might actually be a good thing, but then I hear a noise, and since neither he nor I seem to be the cause of it, I quickly hide behind a tree. I try to look at what's happening over by the boy, but another tree partially blocks my vision. It's slightly annoying, but since it hopefully blocks me from the vision of whoever is making the noise, I know better than to complain.

Soon, I become _really_ glad that my vision is partly blocked, because the next thing I see is a spiked mace coming down on the boy's head, crushing his skull in a manner most vile.

My jaw drops. I may have known from the moment I heard that noise that there was potential for a bad outcome, but I didn't imagine it would be this brutal. A cannon sounds, and though it may be merely seconds after his skull was first pierced, it is still far too long for me to feel comfortable with, knowing that he would have been in pain as he died.

Without even having to considering any other options, I start running as fast as I can. This area of the arena isn't safe anymore - not if I have a bloodthirsty murderer for company.

 _ **32- Scintillaea Ardor, D5f2 - Mason Slate**_

 _ **31- Oliver Hawkins, D7m1 - Leone Strauss**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 7 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus, Oliver)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ellia: 1 (Stevie)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_


	50. Day 7, Part 2

_Opal Mahogany, 13, Third Female (District 1)_

There can't be _that_ many tributes left now, can there? We've _got_ to have been here for at least a week by now - that's plenty of time for the others to have died, right?

I sigh. I don't actually know even approximately how many tributes are remaining. I lost count a long, long time ago. Perhaps that should be a little concerning, but for me, it is not. Time doesn't feel the same in the arena as it does outside of it, and surviving a day feels like you've just passed through a whole another year.

By that logic, I should be about twenty by now, and I genuinely feel that old. The arena has aged me beyond anything I could have imagined beforehand. If I was to be totally honest, I'd even say that I'm beginning to regret volunteering just the _tiniest_ little bit.

Of course, I'm not _that_ honest - I doubt anybody is - so I'm staying adamant, denying the tiny parts of me that want to reveal my current doubts the chance to do so. I am a Career, and even in times where I'm not feeling it fully, I must continue to present myself the way that I have always been taught to.

I wouldn't want to bring shame to District 1 through my silly actions, after all.

As unlikely as I know it is, I can't help but imagine what life as a victor would be like for me. Though I'm not certain, I think I would probably be District 1's youngest ever victor if I won. Don't quote me on that, though - history is not, and never has been, my personal forté. I wouldn't call myself overly academic - I'm not dumb by any means, of course, but my strengths are mainly physical. Though it normally feels like a blessing, occasionally it seems to be a curse.

Now is beginning to become one of those times. If I'd have been just a little bit more bothered about my normal schooling rather than training, perhaps I'd have a better strategy for my survival. Because right now, my plan is looking pretty minimal. And if there really is some kind of correlation between effective planning and survival, then I'm totally screwed.

* * *

 _Tiara Holden, 18, First Male (District 1)_

"This is exhausting," Rhoena groans under her breath as we walk onwards through the forest. "We should have just stayed at the cornucopia..."

"I heard that," I hiss, not wanting for Mason to hear her grumbling. It could make him presume that she doesn't want to be in the alliance any longer.

"That was my intention," she whispers, glaring at me. I blink, confused about her intentions, and so she says, "What? Don't tell me you don't agree with me, hm?"

"Well, no, not rea-" I begin, but then I stop myself. Mason _has_ been pushing us all too far. This morning's kill was the first in a while. Annoyed with myself for not having the intelligence of Rhoena, I lower my head. "Maybe, I guess," I eventually settle on.

"Precisely," my ally responds, sounding overly pleased in herself. I roll my eyes - out of all four of us remaining in the alliance, only _Rhoena_ would act like that. It's one of the perks of not being a trained Career, I suppose: you don't become overly serious.

In all honesty, I'm kind of jealous of that, though I would never say it out loud. I mean, I acted carefree at home, sure, but in here people expect me to be deadly serious... yet the same expectations aren't held to her, the lucky District 6 girl that she is.

We are silent for a while, both of us trying not to unnecessarily wear ourselves out even further than we already by a load of nonsensical banter - now, _that_ would be a dumb decision on our behalf. Fortunately, we both possess functioning brains, so neither of us talk again until Mason calls for us to take a break.

"Okay," he says. "So, Monique and I have been talking, and we think that we need to change our tactics. At the moment, we're not getting anywhere near as many kills as we should..."

"...so we've decided that it'd be for the best if we all split up," Monique interrupts. Rhoena and I just stare at our allies in confusion, but Monique is quick to clear up any misunderstandings. "Just for a few hours, that is. We should come up with a meeting point. Hunting in two groups is likely to be more efficient than hunting together is."

Rhoena nods. "Actually, that might be the most sensical thing you've said all week, Monique," she sneers.

"I agree with you all. It's quite a sensible idea. I'm willing to give it a try," I say quickly, not wanting Rhoena's comment to cause any conflict in the alliance. Mason's certainly got a quick temper - him kicking Glair out of the alliance proved that!

"Good," our alliance leader says, his voice deep. "Rhoena, you go with Tiara. Monique's with me. We can meet here in a couple of hours. All agreed?" Though he poses it as a question, nobody dares to question his authority. We all know it's intended as a statement.

"Good," Monique eventually says, echoing Mason. Rhoena rolls her eyes, and I glare at her, hoping she'll take my hint. "We shall meet here in a few hours. Come on, Mason." She smirks, and then the two walk away, him laughing as she talks.

"Oh, look!" my ally says in a patronising voice. "If it isn't the best buddies, acting like stupid little eight-year-olds _yet again!"_ Gradually, Rhoena's voice turns from just being slightly mocking to showcasing all of her anger.

"Shut up, Rho," I say. "I know you don't like them, and I know you're pissed because he kicked our victim out of the alliance - I mean, I'm annoyed about that too. _But_ you've just got to get over it for now. Without this alliance, you'd be dead already, and you know that. So just get on with it, and let's go hunting without uttering a single word against them, okay?"

Rhoena doesn't say another word for at least half an hour after that, so my words must have hit her hard.

* * *

 _Dynamo Serkit, 16, Second Male (District 3)_

I'm still annoyed that Petra chose me to have to go on my own to hunt down tributes. I mean, she could have chosen _anybody_ \- her included - to be alone, and yet she chose _me._ I'm not even from a traditional Career district, for crying out loud - how am I meant to cope without anybody watching my back? I haven't trained myself for that!

If that bloody Arminta girl was still part of the alliance, I bet _she_ would have been sent alone instead. But no - the stupid little thing decided to ditch us, and now I've been relegated to the position of 'least wanted alliance member'.

It should have been obvious to me from the start that I would soon become the unwanted one. I mean, Petra quite clearly prefers Lyndon over any other ally she has had, and that is including the ones we have lost now, and she seems to quite like Darryn also, though her way of showing it is most peculiar. _Of course_ she would choose to take one of those two with her and leave the other one safely on lookout at the place we have adopted as our own personal cornucopia equivalent.

Frustrated, I sit down for a moment's rest. It's no use attempting to hunt down tributes when I'm not even fully focused myself, and right now I'm feeling so angry at the whole damn world that I doubt I would even notice a tribute passing right in front of my eyes... However, when a loud growl comes from behind me, I am still alert enough to notice the sound and I turn to see a large pack of rabid looking beasts running towards me.

Eyes wide in horror, I grab my back and stumble forwards before sprinting as fast as I can. The mutts looked to have pointed teeth, and I don't want to find my body getting pierced by a set of them.

Annoyingly, I am surrounded by trees and other bits of nature, and I keep stubbing my toes and tripping up when trying to avoid them. It is all very stressful, and I'm sure that if somebody did a medical check-up on me now I would be classed as having 'too high' levels in almost every category.

Weirdly, though, I'm not completely hating this potentially fatal chase. The danger involved is giving me such an adrenaline rush that I cannot help but feel a tiny bit grateful that this happened. After all, if I die this way, at least I'll die feeling on top of the whole damn world.

Despite how potentially awesome a death it would be, however, I don't quite feel ready to die just yet. No - I feel as though there is still so much for me to discover before I pass on to the next world. So even though I am really out of breath now, I keep running, only looking straight ahead, trying to just get away, but suddenly I'm not running on ground. No, I can feel myself dropping, dropping, dropping... and then I feel nothing at all.

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

"What was that?" a wide-eyed Elle asks in panic when she hears a quiet yet high-pitched scream.

I turn my head in the direction the sound is coming from and see a miniature, barely noticeable figure falling from a distant cliff. The screams stop, a cannon sounds, and my suspicions are confirmed.

"It was just a tribute - don't worry, they're gone now."

 _"Gone?"_ Her eyes somehow get even wider than before, and I have to look downwards to avoid her frantic stare.

"Dead. You heard the cannon just then, I _know_ you did."

Elle nods her head solemnly and I sigh - this is horrible.

To add to how miserable we both feel right now, the Capitol anthem starts to play. Though I don't _want_ to, I need to know who has died. With any luck, it will be a Career...

Turns out, our luck may not be beginning to run dry _just_ yet. Dynamo is the first to appear, and I know for a fact that Petra had him in her alliance, so he _must_ have been good. It will be a good thing for the rest of us that he is dead.

Then, there are two tributes who I do not recognise: a girl from District 5 and a boy from District 7. If Delta was still with us, then maybe she would have been able to tell us more about the girl from her district, but she has been separated from us for a while now.

The fact that our alliance keeps breaking down is one that upsets me. First, we lost Ally, and then once we found her we got split up again quite quickly. Hopefully, Delta and Ally have each other for company, though I doubt it very much indeed. It was lucky that even _two_ of us managed to stay together - for the other two to still be together would be a near miracle!

"Well..." I say after a long pause.

"Who do you think was near us?" Elle asks impatiently, and I sigh.

"You mean the one who fell off the cliff? Honestly, Elle, I don't know, and I'm beyond caring. The point is, they're dead now, and that's all that matters." She nods silently, looking sad. I hug her, not knowing what else to do.

A large parachute lands by us. Seeing Elle's upset and not wanting for her to have to be the focus of the cameras in her weak moment, I go to see what it is, and I'm about to take it back to Elle when I see the '4' printed on the side. It's a gift for me. I mean, I'm going to share it regardless if it is possible, but just in case it _isn't_ possible, I decide to open it alone.

Inside, there is a large, soft blanket, much nicer quality than I used to have back in District 4. Though I am grateful for it, since our original one now has some holes in, I sigh. Firstly, there was probably a much less expensive blanket that Amur could have sent - he's just wasted a load of my sponsor money. Secondly, the Capitol either clearly have no concept of human emotion, or the cameras are positioned at a bad angle because they must have interpretted me giving my ally a hug as us snuggling for warmth or something.

Actually, on second thought, it probably wasn't Amur who chose to send the blanket. It's not the sort of thing I could imagine him spending extra on. No, it was probably either a sponsor who made a specific request, or it was Clo. Since it is her first year as a victor, she probably hasn't yet grasped the concept of limited sponsor funds, and it would be just like her to send something that I didn't really need but perhaps would have wanted.

"Thank you," I whisper, knowing that the sponsors who funded it will want me to show them gratitude. Then, I turn back to Elle and pass her the blanket. "Look what got sent," I say as she unfolds it. It is big enough to cover both of us, and we won't even have to be squashed together anymore if we put the old one beneath us, and it makes me start to realise why I was sent this specific one.

I smile, glad that people care about Elle too.

It's getting dark, so we decide to settle down for the night. However, just when we are getting ready to sleep, a familiar voice blasts out: _"Attention, all tributes. Tomorrow morning, there shall be a feast. Your presence is required - failure to attend may lead to some_ very _dire consequences indeed..."_

Elle turns to me and groans. "Looks like we've got an early morning tomorrow, Seb," she says quietly, and I nod.

"Well... goodnight then, Elle," I mutter, and she smiles. And even though I wish I had it in me to smile also, I cannot help but already feel too damaged to do that, despite the fact that I have not actually ended anybody's life so far.

It's not just the bad guys who get changed by the arena, after all: it's _everyone..._

 _ **30- Dynamo Serkit, D3m2 - ARENA**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 7 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus, Oliver)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Dynamo: 2 (Agar, Asher)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ellia: 1 (Stevie)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_


	51. Day 8, Part 1

_Velvet Lea, 17, First Female (District 8)_

I am awoken by rustling leaves. The noise makes me let out a small gasp, but luckily, it's barely audible. The wind is much louder than I am.

Making as little sound as I possibly can, I roll over to look at who or what it is. Though the sky is still quite dark, I can make out a small child, and I let out a faint sigh of relief. They're probably totally harmless. I don't need to be scared. If anything, I should be grateful for the early wake-up. At least I'll make it to the feast on time.

Even so, I decide to watch him. The way he walks seems strange, almost... _unnatural,_ and it unnerves me a bit. Something just seems _off,_ though I'm not sure what that thing is exactly.

Only when he changes direction slightly do I see the rock in his hands. It is large, and some of its faces meet in points that look at though they could do a lot of damage. For a makeshift weapon, it'd be pretty lethal, and so I have no doubts whatsoever that that's exactly what it is: a makeshift weapon.

Though I am tired, I am still awake enough to realise that any kind of real reaction from me would end badly for me. Goodness only knows what he'd do with that stone, but I, for one, do not wish to find out anytime soon. So rather than trying to escape when he is still so close to me, I choose to stay as still as I can.

In theory, it seems to me like the tactic with the highest chance of survival.

See, I'm not just some silly, conceited model anymore. I'm learning more and more each day, and though I hate the way it is happening, I am glad to learn those lessons at all. If I had never learned them before I died... well, that would have made me only half the person I am now. Sure, I may not be anything _amazing,_ and I may not have any _real_ skills to properly help me in this arena, but I'm a better person than I was before I was reaped. A few months ago, I have no doubt that if I was thrown into this same situation, I'd have been kicking up a fuss. And since that would have inevitably led to my immediate death, I'm glad that I'm not that girl anymore.

Velvet Lea, District 8's perfect model, is gone. I'm a new me now, and I'm never going back to how I used to be - not even if I somehow win this.

I have to snap out of my thoughts, knowing that there's a potentially deadly child close to me, and if he comes too close for comfort, I need to allow myself enough time to safely make my escape. I mean, alerting him to my presence _at all_ wouldn't be preferable, but it'd be better than dying if that was what it came down to.

Suddenly, the boy stops. Curious, I squint my eyes in an attempt to see what has piqued his interest. It doesn't take long for me to notice the shape of a human lying on the ground below him. Before I even have time to process his exact intentions, the boy drops the large stone over the sleeping tribute's head, the sharpest end hitting them first before the rest of the rock appears to crush their skull.

He walks away in the same zombie-like manner he walked over to them in, and there's a short delay before the cannon sounds. By the time it goes, the small boy is far away, but that does nothing to make me feel any less terrified.

Only one thought enters my mind: _Run._

* * *

 _Risetto Thorsten, 18, First Male (District 9)_

For me, it is a mad rush to reach the feast in time. See, I can tell that I overslept by the very fact that the sun was already starting to rise when I woke.

As soon as I remembered what today is, I got up, and now I am running towards the destination which could prolong my life by twenty minutes _at most_ , likely, but if it means that I don't have to face a muttation then I think it is worth the risk of getting murdered.

Thankfully, the place I chose to lay down my head last night doesn't seem to be too far from where the action is due to occur, and my dreadful timing doesn't seem to have caused my unfortunate demise just yet. I wipe my sweat covered brow with the back of my hand and I force myself to breathe properly. Give it a short amount of time, and I'll be too terrified to worry about simple things like keeping my breathing steady.

Everybody else appears to already be lying in wait when I arrive, which concerns me greatly. They'll have had more time to recover from the race back to the cornucopia than I have had, and that will likely put me at a disadvantage. Only a slight one, sure, but even the most miniscule of things could easily be the difference between life and death when you are in the arena.

More important than any of that, however, is that I have made it here in time. I dread to think what the result of missing such an event as this would be, and I am lucky enough at the moment that I shall never have to find out.

It must have been a close call, however, bacause I cannot have been standing here for much longer than half a minute when Midas' voice begins to echo through the arena.

* * *

 _Pixel Circuit, 17, First Female (District 3)_

 _"Attention, all tributes. There shall be a one minute ceasefire. After this, you may do as you wish. Good luck, and may the odds be_ ever _in your favour."_

The announcement is loud and clear, obviously playing over the entire arena, and it makes me gulp. _I'm late... I've missed the event with mandatory attendance..._

"No," I mutter, panic filling my whole body. The consequences of missing the feast are bound to be dire, and I'm not looking forward to facing them.

Then again, maybe I deserve the punishment. I've overstayed in Panem by about a week now - it was all going to end up catching up with me some time, and I suppose that it is for the best that I get whatever it is over with sooner rather than later.

Content with the fact that I am going to be in an equal amount of trouble no matter what I choose to do now, I see no harm in going elsewhere for the time being and so I begin to make my way over to a tall tree. If I can climb it then I should be safe for now, in theory.

When I am barely halfway towards it, however, the ground beneath me begins to tremble. I look down and see it start to split, and I gulp: this is _not_ my idea of a good day. I try to run but it seems that my feet are stuck to the ground - a clever trick by the gamemakers, no doubt.

That's when it occurs to me what my punishment is: I'm going to be swallowed alive by the earth beneath me. All I can do is try to control my breathing, but it doesn't seem to either work or help so I just clench my eyes shut and try to pretend that I'm not dying.

 _ **29- Kozuki Shamiko, D4f2 - Rowan Leyton**_

 _ **28- Pixel Circuit, D3f1 - ARENA**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 7 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus, Oliver)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Petra: 2 (Charity, Pepper)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Monique: 2 (Fiyero, Taylor)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 2 (Thomas, Brietta)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Tiara: 1 (Platinum)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ellia: 1 (Stevie)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Invictus: 1 (Natalie)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_


	52. Day 8, Part 2

_Charming Heartsong, 15, Second Male (District 1)_

The countdown ends, and the youngest girl from District 2 flees the scene almost immediately, as does the redhead from District 5, but everyone else stays still, almost as though every other tribute is doing exactly the same thing that I am: waiting for somebody else to make the first move. Not including either girl who ran away or me, there are 24 other tributes - all of whom are now glancing expectantly at one another.

It's funny how even though most of us are hardened killers, we are all still nervous at times. It's our human side showing, and it is both fascinating and terrifying. Fascinating that a nice side to people like me still exists, that is... whilst terrifying in the knowledge that the nicer side of me could perhaps try to take control of my whole being. _That_ would be a disaster indeed.

After what must have been approaching one minute, though, my troubling thoughts are pushed to the back of my mind by the sound of feet repeatedly touching the ground. I look up, and a girl in the colours of District 6 is running into the centre. She looks like she just wants to get it over with and to get out of there, but she clearly didn't anticipate the fact that her moving would trigger almost every single other tribute in the area to move also.

When the girl turns to face in my direction, I scowl. I recognise her easily now: she's the girl who ran away from Amber and I a few days ago. Sure, I killed a stupid boy instead, but she still owes me the greatest thing that anybody could ever owe. By fleeing that day, she didn't save her own life - no, all she managed to do was postpone her death. And right now, this is looking like the right time for her to pay me back her debt.

I gradually make my way towards her, and I'm almost at her when two other tributes get in my way to fight one another. Well... by 'fight one another', I mean that the young boy from District 4 is attacking the older boy who seems utterly defenceless.

Their 'battle' does not last long, but we all stare as it happens. When the more vulnerable boy drops to the floor, his whole body entirely motionless as it lies there in a puddle of its own blood, there is a brief silence. The survivor looks down at the body, and from here, he looks as though he may even feel slightly sorry for what he has just done. Then, there is total uproar.

The first bit of blood in this battle has been shed, and from now onwards the feast is bound to be pure carnage.

* * *

 _Amber Dawns, 18, First Female (District 12)_

A District 4 boy is approached from behind by the creepiest Career girl, who I remember from the Capitol - I think her name might have began with a J or a P or something - and she stabs him in the back. _Rest in peace,_ I think, though I don't physically show any pity for the fallen.

I turn around to see a trembling tribute caught up in the middle of it all. Though they look disgusted with themselves, they push another girl to the ground in order to run away. Unfortunately, the pushed girl falls on top of the psychopath from District 6's spiked mace, and the boy just looks at the corpse before shaking it off his treasured weapon and walking away from her.

A District 2 girl drags herself away from the corpse of another girl who she had been fighting. The dead girl has a spear protuding from her back, and I can imagine that somebody really skilled must have thrown it at her. The survivor is in a bad state, however, and she appears to be missing at least one limb.

All around me, there is death. To every side, children are losing their lives and I am just standing here, completely unaffected by all their screams of terror. I had to deal with depression for a long while, and now they too are getting a taste of what misery feels like.

It seems only fair to me.

I look at my ally and see that he is scowling. When I follow his gaze I realise why: it's the girl who got away from us, and I can imagine that he is extremely annoyed about her survival to this stage in the Hunger Games. Really, she should have died a long time before now, though I would never say that out loud. As an outer district tribute myself, I suppose that I should technically be in a situation as precarious as hers. It's only by pure chance that I found Charming and therefore began to get sponsors rooting for me.

Before I made an alliance, I don't think that _anybody_ in the Capitol had any confidence in me whatsoever.

Conscious that I have been staring in one direction for too long, I briefly turn my head in the opposite direction. As far as I can see, nobody seems to be planning an attack on me, so I stay still, content with the fact that I am currently safe.

Well, as safe as I can be when I am quite literally trapped in the middle of a battle to the death, that is.

When a District 6 girl sneaks up behind a boy I don't recognise and stabs him with a shadow of a smile on her face, I smirk - all this bloodshed is occuring, and yet not one person has bothered to challenge me.

* * *

 _Ellia Reyner, 16, Second Female (District 2)_

A boy approaches a smug girl from behind and kicks her to the ground. She gasps, but he puts an end to her cries when he hits the back of her skull with a spiked baton. I am still for a moment, totally stunned and horrified at his actions.

It looked to be a most vile way to die.

After shaking just the tiniest bit of the poor girl's flesh off his baton, the boy sets his eyes on me and slowly makes his way in my direction. I gulp, realising his intentions and not wanting the girl's fate to become mine also. I've probably got a minute, maybe a minute and a half _at most_ until he reaches me, and that's only if I'm fortunate enough that he doesn't decide to start running.

I try to get away, but when you only have one arm, and only one of your legs is actually functioning, and you're losing a concerning amount of blood, you can't exactly move very fast. It's a very stressful situation for me, and it's one that I _really_ wish I hadn't landed myself in.

I turn my head, trying to see a shorter yet safe escape route, but I cannot see one. I gulp - _this is it, Elle. The end of your miserable little life._

The thing is, I'm not ready for it to be over just yet. Around my allies, I felt needed... and it was _nice._ In Hell, I'll be alone, and just the prospect is enough to make my stomach churn.

That's when I see Seb, and an idea quickly forms inside my head. It cannot save me, for I am beyond able to be saved now, but it could save me the pain of the spikes crushing my skull... It is a cruel plan, but it is my only other option at this point.

"Seb!" I yell, and he turns to face me. His eyes fill with horror as he sees the state I am in: missing arm, butchered leg, and all.

"Elle?" he chokes. " _Elle?"_ He runs towards me and grabs my good arm, trying to drag me away.

" _Seb,"_ I hiss, _"Don't."_ Because no matter how much I want to survive, I'm already gone and he is endangering his own life by trying to save me.

"B- but Ell-" he stutters, but I cut him off.

"No, Seb. You can't save me. But you can help me..."

"How?" he asks, his voice frantic, and it makes me feel guilty about what I am about to ask him to do.

I have to gulp before saying the horrific words: "You could kill me."

He gets a stunned look on his face and neither of us make a noise for what can only be a few seconds but seems like an eternity. "What? I, um... I think I misheard you, Elle..."

"No, you didn't. Kill me."

"Never." I glare at him, though I understand where he is coming from. If he had asked the same from me, I doubt I would have wanted to do it either. But right now, it is my best option, and I am desperate. Sure, it is probably not fair on him in the slightest, but I am sure that _anybody_ else who was in a situtation like mine would act the same way that I am right now. It's only natural, though that doesn't stop me from feeling guilty about the situation I'm forcing him into. "You're my _friend,_ Elle," he begs, but I just shake my head at him.

"Then _help_ me, Seb! I don't want to have to feel my face getting bashed in, or my brain being torn apart by the spikes on that thing! _Please,_ Seb - I'm _begging_ you."

"B- but..." His eyes well up with tears, and it sets me off too. It is not right of me to ask this of him, not in the slightest. Regardless of my morals, though, I cannot back down now. I don't want my final moments to be as torturous as that other boy would almost certainly make them.

" _Just fucking take your knife and stab me!"_ I scream, tears streaming down my face. " _Just do it and save me the pain, won't you?"_ I reach out to take his knife myself with my remaining hand but he places his own hand over the much needed weapon protectively.

"No," he says, his voice trembling. "I- I can't do it, and I can't let you do it either. You're my _rock,_ Elle, and I _need_ you. I can't let you die - _I just can't!"_ His voice is full of desperation, almost as though he thinks that pleading with me could make a difference to the outcome that we are both so scared of - almost as if this is _my own choice._ But I don't _want_ to die now - in fact, the fact that it is inevitable is more terrifying to me than even my worst childhood nightmares, and some of those were quite horrifying indeed.

I briefly look behind me to see the crazed District 6 boy still approaching, and it makes me shudder. I stare at Seb, being sure to not lose eye contact even when he flinches.

" _Seb,"_ I whisper, my voice strained and the word almost painful.

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

 _"Please... I don't want to suffer."_

Her words hit me in the most powerful way, almost like a stone wall collapsing right above of me and trapping me among the rubble. Though I have seen her point each time she has asked me to end it for her, I've been trying to ignore it and see a happier outcome. Now, however, I am finally having to accept that there is _no_ happier outcome. She is going to die right now, and the amount of pain she is in when it happens is all down to me.

I should have never expected to be able to stay happy for long, it was stupid of me. I'm in the Hunger Games, after all.

She reaches up and grabs my wrist tightly, and I can feel her trembling with fear. It's not fair of me to keep her like this - it's _selfish,_ and to let her go in the most horrible way would be inexcusable. If I'm not by her side now, then can I really say that I was ever truly a good friend to her? I don't think I could bring myself to, knowing that her painful final moments were all my own damn fault.

I close my eyes to hold back the tears that I cannot show - not now, as I need to be strong. _For Elle,_ I tell myself inside my head. "Okay," I whisper, practically choking on the word. "I'll do it."

I open my eyes, and a solemn smile is gracing the face of one of the best people I have ever had the honour of knowing. "You're a good guy, Seb - never change. Can you do that for me?" I nod, and though I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her she's going to be fine, that there's a perfect place in Heaven already waiting for her, I know that there just isn't time. I place my hand on her shoulder, and I smile at her one last time.

"Goodbye, Elle. I'll miss you," I say as I take out the blade with my remaining hand. Then, in what is _by far_ the most dreadful second of my life so far, I plunge it into her chest. Elle's eyes go wide, but then the emotion leaves them and her body drops to the floor.

 _Her body._ Even though it's not quite as harsh as 'corpse', it is still too much for me to deal with. I drop the knife, not wanting anything to do with it after what it has- what _I_ have done, and sprint away from the area, away from the boy who wanted to end her life so painfully, away from all the bloodshed... but most importantly, away from _her._ Elle is gone from my life now, and it feels as though a part of my heart has been torn away from my body. She was there for me, a reason for me to stay strong even when I felt like breaking down... but now? Now, I have nothing to keep me grounded, and it _hurts._

Only when I am far from the fatal feast do I allow myself to properly cry, and once the tears begin to fall I start to doubt if they will ever stop.

* * *

 _Ally Johnson, 14, Third Female (District 4)_

 _Did he just-_ I shudder at the realisation of what I just saw. Seb - my seemingly kind and gentle former ally - just killed Elle in front of my very own eyes. Not through a screen, even - _right_ in front of me.

I feel a tear roll down my cheek in mourning for the sweet girl who just lost her life. Elle was caring and she looked after me back when the alliance was still together, and I'm not willing just yet to accept that she is gone - _especially_ not considering the way it happened.

Even if I survive, I doubt I'll be able to forgive Seb for what he has done. It was inhumane, and it was uncalled for. I don't even know _what_ to think about him anymore - I mean, was he just leading us along from the start? Was he _ever_ the boy he seemed to be, or was it all an act?

Both of those are questions playing on my mind right now, and one significant thing that they have in common is that I doubt I shall ever receive answers to either of them.

The head of one of the boys from District 2 flying past me simultaneously makes me gasp and pulls me out of the trance I was beginning to enter. I turn my head to look at his body and see his younger district partner standing above the headless corpse with the guilty weapon. He is smirking, and it makes me feel like throwing up all over the bloody grass.

A boy with a spiked mace hovers over Elle's body, and I want to scream at him to get away, to leave her beauty alone even though she is dead, but I can't make the words leave my mouth. Thankfully, he gets distracted before he can mutilate her... _her_ _corpse,_ and he chooses to instead end the life of the young girl from District 1. Though I pity her, I am grateful for her sacrifice. It means that my former ally - okay, so she wasn't just my _ally,_ she was close to being my _friend_ \- is going to stay whole.

As long as her body is still one, I can relax in the knowledge that she is once again safe, that she can have a proper burial. To me, that is important.

When I see a girl not much older than me get her stomach pierced by Monique, however, I realise that I cannot fully relax. Where I am standing, I am in danger. To stay here would be too much of a risk for me to take, and just being here is making me upset regardless, so I turn around and leave the area. I never really wanted to go to the feast anyway, and now I am wishing that I could unsee all that it brought.

Today has just reminded me exactly how brutal the arena is, and I want nothing more than to get away from it. Maybe when I sleep later, it will help... if I can actually manage to sleep ever again, that is.

* * *

 _Leone Strauss, 16, Second Male (District 6)_

Just seconds ago, a boy was taunting a girl, claiming her death was his right or something like that - I was a bit too far away to hear him clearly, see - and he looked as through he was about to kill her when two girls, both Careers, silently crept up on the distracted pair and stabbed them almost simultaneously, though the girl dropped to the floor before the boy did. As she dropped, I saw that the dead girl's clothes were the same colour of mine, meaning that she was likely from my district. It doesn't particularly bother me, no, but I _am_ slightly shocked that anybody else from District 6 actually made it this far. Perhaps that's why I am unable to get it out of my head as immediately as I'd have hoped.

I try to ignore what just happened, though, because right now, there are two other potential victims waiting for me. Once again, instinct takes over and I start to make my way towards the killers, fully prepared to end the life of at least one - if not both - of them.

Though I don't know why, I lose my gaze and quickly glance around. Maybe it's to check that nobody is trying to hunt me - I'm really not sure - but when I do, I see Rowan staring at me.

 _Rowan._ My sweet and innocent former ally - who has probably just seen me brutally end the lives of so many tributes - is just staring at me, his jaw wide open. It's enough to bring me out of this weird and murderous trance and see myself for who I am again: a cold-hearted murderer.

It makes me feel sick with myself, like I want to detach myself from who I am. I've never been stuck in it for that long before, and I suppose that it must have been the effect of the arena, but I hate it regardless. It is vile... like the rest of me, too damaged now for me to just think of myself as a carrier for the murderer within.

A warm tear trickles down my cheek, and my whole body trembles.

Rowan just stares at me. "L- Leone? Are you o- okay?" he asks, his voice trembling slightly. "Why do you have that... that _weapon?"_

I look down at my hands, both covered in sticky, red blood, and I glance at the cruel killing machine, so gruesome with its combination of fresh and rotten flesh stuck to it. It is gross, and I feel ashamed of myself for even being in possession of it _now,_ not to mention the extreme guilt I feel for using it up to this point, which is too much to measure. I have let the monster in me take over, and I hate that - _I_ _hate_ _that_.

And even though I really don't want to have to say it, I feel as though I have left myself with no choice but to cry, "Get away from me! I don't want to hurt you!"

Rowan looks shocked, likely because of my baton, but I just shake my head furiously before turning and running away. As I do so, however, I forget to look at the ground and I slip up on a puddle of blood - likely a result of my own actions, ironically.

As I fall to the ground, I lose my grip on the deadly weapon and it goes flying upwards. Well, perhaps _flying_ isn't the best word for it, due to its weight and the fact that it never actually goes that high, but considering that I have mere seconds left to live, it'll have to do.

I shake my head once again, unable to make any other movement. " _I'm sorry_ ," I whisper, knowing that they shall likely be my final words.

The last thing I ever see is my own spiked baton falling on my face, and I can't help but feel as though I deserve it.

 _ **27- Bug Huxley, D3m1 - Darryn Allain**_

 _ **26- Troye Pacifica, D4m1 - Petra Silverwood**_

 _ **25- Radia Redix, D9f2 - Lennon Chai**_

 _ **24- Giana Acacia, D7f3 - Tiara Holden**_

 _ **23- Risetto Thorsten, D9m1 - Rhoena Lyter**_

 _ **22- Amber Dawns, D12f1 - Leone Strauss**_

 _ **21- Ellia Reyner, D2f2 - Sebastian Renier**_

 _ **20-** **Glair Clermont, D2m2** **\- Invictus Nero**_

 _ **19- Opal Mahogany, D1f3 - Leone Strauss**_

 ** _18- Kiora Plessant, D6f2 - Monique Zale_**

 _ **17- Charming Heartsong, D1m2 - Tiara Holden**_

 _ **16- Leone Strauss, D6m2 - HIMSELF**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Leone: 9 (Trigg, Tech, Florian, Astra, Barley, Aestus, Oliver, Amber, Opal)**_

 _ **Charming: 4 (Sylvie, Riley, Jake, Sherman)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Rhoena: 3 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto)**_

 _ **Opal: 2 (Luka, Lee)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Giana: 2 (Azalea, Hugo)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ellia: 1 (Stevie)**_

 _ **Glair: 1 (Therese)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_


	53. Day 8, Part 3

_Velvet Lea, 17, First Female (District 8)_

I sit in a ball, legs tucked up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them, tears streaming down my face. My sobs are loud - _too_ loud for me to be fully safe right now if another tribute appeared - but I can't control myself. Today, I saw so much death, and I hated it - I _hated_ it.

Days like this one should really make me grateful that I actually still have my life, but in reality, they make me feel the total opposite: they make me long for my own death.

I know for a fact that I shouldn't be here any longer. I'm not brave, I'm not skilled in any way... most of all, I'm plain terrified. I mean, try putting any other untrained 17-year-old girl into somewhere where she has to fight to the death and see how she fares. My bet is that she'd be just as scared as I am right now. I mean, for fuck's sake - I'm a _model,_ not a _fighter!_ No matter how many times I convince myself that I'm more than just that, I always end up getting dragged back down to being just some pretty little doll for people to look at. Can the Capitol _honestly_ say that they ever thought I stood a chance at winning this thing?

I might be just as beautiful as the victors are, but I'm not like them in any other way. That just keeps on becoming more and more apparent to me as time goes on.

Seeing that little boy kill that other tribute this morning was evidence enough of that. A braver, more deserving tribute wouldn't have even _flinched._ But me? No, I ran away in fear. Surely _that_ alone says enough about me.

It says that I am a _coward,_ and a worthless, _worthless_ human being. My courage is seemingly non-existant, and though a month ago I would have disputed it, I now know that courage and strength are _far_ more valuable than grace and beauty could ever be.

As much as I have changed, I know that I shall _never_ get anywhere even _remotely_ close to the other tributes when it comes to my bravery.

I don't deserve to be here anymore. Far more worthy tributes than me are dead, so why aren't I also? Chances are, I'll never find out... but it cannot hurt me to wonder.

* * *

 _Petra Silverwood, 17, First Female (District 2)_

"So..." Darryn begins, the focus of his gaze constantly switching between Lyndon and I.

"So _what,_ Darryn? Cat got your tongue, has it?" I ask in frustration. The boy's a teenager - you'd think he'd know how to speak properly by now, wouldn't you?

My youngest remaining ally blushes, and he doesn't immediately continue. Eventually, he does finish his words though. "I was just wondering about what happens now. I mean, so many people just died, and although that's a good thing for each of us individually and all, it means that our time as an alliance is surely more limited now - am I right, Petra?"

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. Traditionally, at a certain point, the Career alliance splits. And despite the fact that I know that it is inevitable eventually, for now I feel much safer with people watching my back for me. _Especially_ when said people are trustworthy, like he and Lyndon seem to be. So I say: "Yes, Darryn. That's something we'll have to deal with when the time comes. For now, I don't think we need to worry about that. We have some time left." He nods, as does Lyndon. "Good," I say. "Now that's sorted, let's go and hunt some tributes."

I begin to walk, but I soon realise that I'm not being followed by my allies. Though it annoys me, I am careful to keep a straight face so that it doesn't show. "Why aren't you walking?"

There is an awkward silence before Lyndon finally gives in and talks. "It's just, we're both tired from the feast, Petra. Surely _one night_ off won't do any harm? You and Darryn already have kills from today, after all..."

I deliberate what she says, but in the end, I shake my head. "The other tributes should all still be relatively close to the cornucopia tonight. In the morning, they are likely to scatter. It's our best chance, regardless of what you two want right now. Come on." And with that, I start walking, and soon, I can hear my allies' groans and reluctant footsteps behind me.

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

The tears still won't stop coming. They're still falling from my eyes in such a large quantity that they may as well be miniature waterfalls. I'm aware of how loud my sobs are, and I know that they could easily land me in serious trouble... but right now, I couldn't care less. Because _I killed her._

I curl my fingers into a fist and punch my forehead once... twice... three times... and then I lose track of the amount of times my hand makes contact with my face, but then I suddenly stop. Though I have no real idea why it happens, images of loved ones back home appear in my head, constantly replaying over and over again.

Landry is the first person who I 'see'. He's frowning at me, and for a moment I wonder why. But then I look down at my hand and even though it may be night, it isn't yet too dark for me to be able to make out the crimson liquid coating on my knuckles. For some reason, it just makes me cry even harder. Elle wouldn't have wanted to see me like this, and though I doubt that the cameras are focused on me right now, I know fully well that if the people back home were able to see me right now, they would be horrified. Well, other than Minnie, of course, though I've recently been doubting whether she ever loved me at all, or if it was all just an act right from day one.

Though I keep desperately hoping that it isn't true, I am beginning to see just how likely the latter really is. I was truly naïve not to see from the beginning that she was only ever using me, that I was nothing more than a pawn in her game. After all, why else would she force me to enter the Hunger Games if she didn't want rid of me, despite everything?

It's just yet another thing that causes my tears to fall even faster. Honestly, this is just getting ridiculous now - no teenage boy should ever act like this. But then again, no teenage boy should ever have to stab his vulnerable friend to death in front of the entire nation, so I guess I'm an exception to the rule.

 _ **NO DEATHS THIS CHAPTER**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Rhoena: 3 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_


	54. Day 9, Part 1

_Lennon Chai, 17, First Female (District 7)_

When I wake up, I find that I have goosebumps all over my arms. Since it's not cold in here today - the sweat that covers almost my entire body is proof enough that it's warm enough - I'm going to put it down to fear. Yesterday was like a living nightmare. I mean, I actually pushed an innocent girl onto that _vile_ boy's bloody mace - _I ended a life._

I mean, I didn't _mean_ to kill her. I just needed to get away from there, so I pushed her out of my way. I knew that she would more than likely fall down... I just wasn't counting on that weapon being where she landed. The horror that I felt when I realised what I had done... well, it was _unbearable._

It still _is_ horribly unbearable, even though that was a day ago now. Just because it wasn't premeditated doesn't change the fact that I am now a killer. Even if it wasn't _quite_ cold-blooded murder, the Capitol's citizens will likely choose to see it in that disgusting light anyway. They're sick people like that.

I put my face in my hands to cover my eyes as droplets of salt water start to fall from them, letting them create puddles in my palms. I know fully well that my tears are obvious, but at least this way I can _pretend_ that I'm fine, that the whole of Panem isn't judging me harshly.

At least I can _try_ to make myself believe that everything is the same as it was two days ago, though I know that it is the farthest thing from it.

Shaking, I force myself to stand up. I _have_ to move on, or else I'm putting my life at risk even more so than it already is by the very fact that I am stuck in this arena. To do that would be practically the same as attempting suicide, considering the fact that my chances of surviving the two situations are about the same. I can't do that. I owe it to the girl I killed to at least _try_ to win this.

So that's what I'm going to do: I'm going to do my very best to get out of this hellhole alive.

* * *

 _Arminta Massina, 13, Third Female (District 2)_

I stroll through the woods. Sure, maybe running might enable me to distance myself even further from the other tributes, but I don't want to wear myself out _just_ yet. I'll need enough energy to be able to sprint if I spot another tribute.

This part of the forest is actually rather pretty, and the smallest of smiles creeps on to my face and creates a mask for my inner terror to hide itself behind. If I'm going to be stuck inside a deadly arena at the age of just 13, at least it's a scenic one. If it was some kind of vast and empty desert then I would probably be even more miserable than I am right now.

Or dead. I mean, I could have died already in a different arena - who knows what would have happened to me?

Eventually, I get too tired to continue walking, so I allow myself a short rest. _Just ten minutes,_ I tell myself, but the next thing I know, I find myself falling asleep against a tree.

A low growl wakes me up. I don't know how long has passed, but it must have been a while. When my eyes open, I see large green irides staring into my own. When I look down, I see bloodied fangs. Whether it is the blood of a tribute or the blood of another beast, I doubt I will ever know.

I begin to tremble, a few droplets of salt water falling from my eyes, and I hold on to the end of my cardigan sleeve tightly in an attempt to steady my nerves. It doesn't work, of course, but I can't think of any alternatives, so I continue to do it. It occurs to me that this mutt could be what ends me, and I gulp. "No!" I scream in utter desperation. "Help me! Somebody, please - help me!"

Tears begin to fall down my face at a faster pace. I can tell that this is more than likely my ending, and that there is truly nothing that I can do about it now other than accept my unfortunate fate.

To become okay with my almost imminent death in a matter of mere minutes may be nearly impossible, but it would be for the best, so I must try. If somebody who cared was nearby, they would have come to me by now. I'm totally alone here, with just the creature who will likely be the end of me for company.

What a miserable situation it is that I am in.

With a sigh, I wipe my eyes with my arm. The tears were beginning to blur my sight, and they seemed like a bad thing a moment ago, but now that they are gone, and I can see the beast clearly, I want nothing more than for it to be a blur once again.

Nothing more other than for it to abandon its mission and let me live, that is, because that would be a much nicer option than dying, no matter how much my tears make it hard for me to make out what is going on. A tiny part of me is losing the will to live though, and I know how dangerous that is, and it petrifies me to the core. I _can't_ give up, not now. Not when there are so few tributes remaining.

Mathematics may have never been my strong point, but I have eyes and ears that function still, and I saw very few tributes at the feast before I ran from the scene, and I heard a fair number of cannons in the aftermath. It doesn't take a genius to put the two together, which is fortunate, because it's becoming more and more apparent that my mind is far from outstanding.

I suppose that the number of remaining tributes doesn't matter at all though. Not now, when I am probably going to die within a short period of time, be that either a couple of minutes or several hours. In fact, there's not really much that I can do which would be helpful at all now. Death is coming my way, hope has abandoned me, and I have nothing important to contribute to the world in the coming minutes.

Trembling, I lie down in as calm a manner as I can manage, force a smile to grace my mouth, and whisper to the sky, "I'm sorry." And then I feel one of the beast's claws pierce through my stomach, and it is all over.

* * *

 _Delta Joule, 17, First Female (District 5)_

There were too many faces in the sky last night for me to be able to sleep properly. So many people dead, and likely by so many different other tributes. All of them were teenagers - they were all too young to die. And though I don't know who it was who killed each of them, I know that they too are far too young to be living with the guilt of ending another child's life.

One of the faces was my former ally, Elle. Now, _that_ surprised me. I thought she would outlive me for sure, coming from District 2 and being a victor's daughter and all. I don't know who killed her, but they must have been strong. Probably another tribute from a Career district - that Petra girl or Mason, maybe. They would have known her strengths and weaknesses well enough from the time they spent together on their floor in the Capitol. Perhaps staying at the feast would have been a wise choice, because at least that way I'd know who to look out for.

Regardless of what caused her death, though, it's all too horrible. She's dead. She was 16 years old and now she's dead. It's _wrong._ She should be happy, living her life - not in a _morgue,_ for goodness' sake!

As I walk slowly though the trees, I wonder what Ally and Seb must think of it all. Do they feel as sad about her death as I do? It probably came as a shock to them too, I guess. In truth, I miss them. When it was the four of us, I always felt like I was in good company. Now, I'm all alone. And I hate it so much.

I force myself to block such thoughts from my mind. Being a pessimist isn't going to help me survive this whole ordeal, and even though it would mean I've passed through living Hell, I'd still like to come out the other side and go home to District 5. I miss it. No, if I want to even stand a chance of surviving this, I need to stop being so down and allow myself to smile more. Happiness can't do me any more harm at this point, but it might make me feel less broken inside.

So I fake a grin and keep it plastered on my face, fully aware that I probably resemble a clown currently, and continue onwards.

After a while, I hear a muffled sound. Though it makes me slightly sceptical, my curiousity gets the better of me and I walk slightly nearer. As I do, I am able to make out what the noise really is: it's someone sobbing.

 _Honestly,_ I think. _Whoever it is, they must have a death wish, crying that loudly when_ all _of the other tributes are still probably going to be within a mile or so from here._

I continue to walk in the direction of the noise, knowing that I'm unlikely to happen upon any kind of major threat, since I very much doubt that they would be so tearful. When I finally spot the tribute, I feel slightly taken aback. It's not who I'd have expected it to be, that's for sure.

" _Sebastian?"_

My former ally looks up at me, and his eyes widen. "Go away!" he shouts, his voice full of desperation. "I don't want to hurt you, _go away!"_ Despite his confusing words, though, something inside tells me that I _need_ to stay. I want my ally back, I'm sick and tired of being on my own. I _need_ the company to stop me from getting driven insane in here.

So I let a small smile form on my face, and say the word I know he least wants to - but most needs to - hear: _"No."_

 _ **15- Arminta Massina, D2f3 - ARENA**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Rhoena: 3 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto)**_

 _ **Arminta: 2 (Persimmon, Orchid)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_


	55. Day 9, Part 2

_Rhoena Lyter, 18, First Female (District 6)_

"I'm kind of bored, Tiara," I sigh. I've been wanting to get up and go hunting all day, because, at this point, I honestly think it'd be for the best for every tribute remaining if a victor was crowed sooner rather than later, but my ally is insistent that one day to regain our energy is 'not going to kill us'.

I'm not joking, those were her exact words: "A little bit of rest is not going to kill us, Rhoena". When she said them to me this morning, a frustrated sigh accompanying them, I couldn't help but think about how ironic it was that she was promising me that we wouldn't die in the middle of an arena full of bloodthirsty tributes who are out to get us. Not exactly the kind of situations I'd be tempted to make promises in, but it's each to their own, I guess.

Tiara turns her head to face me and rolls her eyes a little. "Rho, it's been less than a day. Not even twenty-four measly little hours, okay? Stop getting so damn worked up about me needing some proper rest, it's just getting annoying." I open my mouth, all ready to say something that I know would piss her off greatly, but then I bite my tongue and reconsider. Purposely irritating a trained Career girl when she's already not in a great mood would be akin to signing my own death warrant.

In the end, I decide it's probably for the best if I don't go down that path, and end up simply saying, "Fine. I'll try to shut up for a bit then." It makes Tiara smile a little, though I can't be certain whether it's supposed to be a friendly smile or if she's intending it to be slightly threatening. Maybe she was aiming for both simultaneously. All I can say is that if that's her aim, she's doing a good job of it.

Silently, I set about doing nothing... but it really doesn't last all that long before I proceed to start poking a hole in my cardigan with my little finger. Is it a wise idea? Probably not. Will it save me from extreme boredom? Quite possibly, though it's a rather dull task in itself.

Eventually, I can't take how mind-numbingly boring the whole thing is, and I sigh. This whole 'getting rest' thing isn't something I can say I'm keen on, because if I did say that, it would be one _major_ lie.

"Rhoena, shut the heck up," Tiara groans. "I'm trying to sleep."

Blinking, I turn to face her again. "What is it that I've done _now?"_ I ask in utter exasperation.

Rolling her eyes, my ally says, "You sighed, it was loud. I'm trying to sleep, so please kindly go and shut up."

My jaw drops, though Tiara doesn't see it since her eyes were closed again the moment she finished talking. _Sighing_ is a crime now? I mean, I'm willing to put up with some nonsense in the arena, because everybody's going to be acting a little weird when they're here, but that's just plain ridiculous, and surely she knows that.

That girl had better watch out, because she's really beginning to get on my nerves.

* * *

 _Invictus Nero, 14, Second Male (District 2)_

As strange as it sounds, coming from a Career boy and all, I'm actually beginning to get slightly bored of the arena. The Hunger Games were made out to be some magnificent thing back home, and the tales of past years made me actually feel rather pleased to be reaped - I certainly wouldn't have been happy should somebody have decided to try and take such a 'golden' opportunity away from me through them volunteering. Now I've been in here for a while though, I'm beginning to realise that doing very little all day aside from looking out for potential future victims is actually rather tedious at times.

It's certainly nowhere near as exciting as I was hoping it would be, and I haven't felt many crazy adrenaline rushes yet, which is just plain disappointing, I'll be totally honest. I mean, the gamemakers could have at least _tried_ to make the arena interesting. But, no - all I've really noticed in here thus far has been a load of trees and a few distant mountains. Nothing particularly notable, to say the least, which is unusual, given that it's a Quarter Quell, and usually, they mean that there are a lot more twists and such. This year though? No such luck for me, it seems.

I sigh and tuck my knees a little closer to my chest. It's not as though it's unreasonably cold in here, because it really isn't. Right now, I'd say that the temperature in here is about the same as it tends to be in early spring in District 2, which I normally cope in perfectly fine. The only real difference between those months and now, I suppose, is the fact that usually I'd be wearing at least a couple of layers of clothing, yet right now, I'm still stuck in the stupid outfit that I was sent into the arena in, and it's hardly appropriate for these weather conditions. Nobody back home would have been wearing tiny shorts and cotton shoes in March, and yet that's what I'm stuck in on a day which mimics said month's typical weather almost perfectly.

Sometimes I just really don't understand the people of the Capitol.

Unfortunately for me, they just so happen to be the very ones in charge of my fate right now, so that really sucks. There's nothing I can do about it though, so I may as well just deal with it.

With a groan, I grab what little supplies I have and stand up. If I want to stay alive, I'm going to have to grab the Capitol's attention, and the best way to do that is make a kill.

It's time for me to go hunting.

* * *

 _Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)_

Beside me, Monique groans, throwing her head into her hands in a manner that seems so overdramatic it becomes comical. It takes a lot of effort to not laugh or grin or even simply roll my eyes, but I manage to keep myself from showing any kind of real emotion. Right now isn't the time to seem like some kind of relatable human being - I need to show them either my monstrous side or feign indifference in all situations. I want to- no, I _need_ to win this thing, and if seeming slightly apathetic is the way to get me there, then it's what I'll do.

Unfortunately for me, my sole remaining ally seems to have a different plan to mine altogether. Whereas I am attempting to show a total lack of feelings, Monique's just becoming exasperated to the point where she's not even bothering to _attempt_ to seem impassive. "You okay, Monique?" I ask.

"Peachy," she says, her voice bitter.

"So... I'll take that as a 'no' then," I chuckle, making my companion roll her eyes.

"Take it how you like, I don't care," she retorts, and I have to remind myself to not begin grinning, because I'm really tempted to at least smile right now. Sure, I wouldn't go so far as to ever class myself as having friends in here, because that's quite simply just not how the Hunger Games work, but Monique's good enough company. You know, until she dies. Which will probably be fairly soon, based upon the average length of a Hunger Games, but then again, this is a Quarter Quell, so who knows? Maybe she'll be around for a while yet.

I can't exactly say that her presence would be unappreciated, because without her, the loneliness would probably drive me insane. The longer she's around, the better - so long as she doesn't end up outliving me, that is. I may as well make the most of having an ally while I'm still fortunate enough to have one.

The Capitol anthem begins to play, and we both turn to look at the sky. Arminta's face is the only one that comes up, and then it's over. I look over at Monique and nod, which merits a small nod from her in response. Though the girl was from my district, I can hardly claim to be upset or distressed by her death. I barely knew her - to me, all she was was an annoying little girl.

That's all she'll ever be to me.

 **Author's note: So, my exams are over now, hence how I've finally had time to complete this chapter. Summer's coming up and I won't have school then, so hopefully there'll be a couple of chapters in July and August. Anyway... feel free to tell me what you thought of this little piece of crap. :3**

 _ **NO DEATHS THIS CHAPTER**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Rhoena: 3 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 1 (Malachi)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_

 **Questions:**

 **1\. How was the chapter overall?**

 **2\. Which POV did you prefer?**

 **3\. And your least favourite one?**

 **4\. Who do you think is going to die next?**

 **I don't really have a lot else to say at this point in time, so... yeah. Just keep being awesome people (and pandas, etc.)! Loves you all!**

 **-Crystal**


	56. Day 10, Part 1

_Lyndon Meyers, 16, Second Female (District 1)_

I wake up with a terrible pain in my back. I gasp, my eyes widening in horror, and I quickly run my hand over my back several times. I can feel neither a weapon sticking into my body nor any blood on my outfit. Sighing in relief, I conclude that I must have just been sleeping in a weird position.

Petra looks over at me, her face showing some rare concern. "Lyndon, are you okay?" I nod.

"Slept funny, that's all," I mumble, looking at the ground as I utter the words. "Got kind of worried that someone had attacked me in my sleep for a moment though."

When I look up at her, her face contorts. Putting her hand on my shoulder, she says, "It's fine, I get you."

"You've felt like that too?" I ask in disbelief, and she shakes her head.

"But I can understand how you might end up worrying about something like that. Don't worry though, I've been awake. My watch, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Good," she says, her expression turning unreadable again and letting go of me. "Now eat some food, you'll need energy today."

I raise an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes. "We're going to be doing a lot of walking today, Lyndon. I don't intend on us retiring for the night until we've got at least one kill between us."

I want to point out that we may not even be in the same part of the arena as any other tributes, but I decide against commenting at all. Petra's in an unusually good mood this morning, and I don't want to be the one to ruin it by annoying her. Darryn certainly wouldn't appreciate it if I put her in a bad mood, that's for sure.

Talking of Darryn... The District 4 boy sits up and rubs his eyes. "Awake at last?" I say, and he grimaces.

"I think I preferred being in my dreams - they were far more pleasant than this place, that's for sure."

"Fair enough," I say, because even though he was making the comment jokingly, it's 100% true. This place is slowly becoming a terrible nightmare, and our dreams are our only chance to escape this Hell we're trapped in.

Sometimes, I wonder if volunteering was a good idea after all, but those thoughts never stay for long. When I win, the pride I'll bring to my district will be worth it all, I'm certain. I'll be the heroine in District 1's story, and I'll be more than happy to take on that role.

* * *

 _Velvet Lea, 17, First Female (District 8)_

I can't bring myself to do anything other than hug my knees to my chest and sob anymore. Ever since I was reaped, almost _nothing_ good has happened to me. I mean, sure, I've definitely become a better person than I was before, but back then, I was _happy._ There weren't any gamemakers who merely saw me as a sexual being, a toy to use once and then dispose of without giving a damn about the damage they caused to my mind by doing _that_ to me. There weren't any other teenagers, many of them suffering from a terrifying case of bloodlust, who want nothing more than the chance to detach my head from my body simply to ensure that they get a chance to survive until the following morning.

In here, I'm not safe. I know I won't survive to ever see outside of the arena again - against a trained Career, or even an outer district tribute who's used to doing manual labour, I would stand no chance in a fight. I'd be dead within mere minutes.

If I had some kind of sharp knife, I'd actually consider stabbing myself at this point. At least that way, I'd be in complete control of the way my life ends. As it is, I'll have no choice in the matter, and I hate that. It seems so inhumane to allow us to die in such violent manners as we inevitably shall do when we're completely helpless. It's _wrong,_ and it most certainly shouldn't be allowed.

The Capitol's citizens sure are a bunch of soulless people, because nobody with a conscience would _ever_ allow an event such as the Hunger Games to happen even once, no matter _every single year._ It really is sickening.

Even thinking about those people makes me cry even more. I know I was a bit of a bitch back in District 8, but I definitely never did anything that meant that I deserved to be murdered live in front of the entire country, that much I'm certain of. Short of brutally murdering half of a district, I can't think of any reason why _any_ child or teenager would deserve such a cruel fate.

All of a sudden, I hear some footsteps. They're gradually getting louder, so I can only assume that whoever it is is heading in my direction. Being in the middle of a mountain range, I have nowhere to hide, however, so I stay put. Honestly? I'm not even sure I'll mind if they find me, which they more than likely will do. Like I said, there aren't many places to hide in this part of the arena.

The whole 'not minding if I'm caught' thing should ring alarm bells inside of my head, but it doesn't even surprise me that much. I'm far beyond caring whether I survive the day or not, because I'm fully aware that even if I do, I'll likely just end up dying tomorrow instead. There's not much difference for me, no matter which option happens.

After a few minutes, the person comes into view. It's the girl from District 2, the one who always seemed so harsh and emotionless. _Really?_ I think. _Of all the tributes remaining, it had to be her?_

The footsteps don't stop though, and it wouldn't take a genius to realise that she obviously isn't alone. Sure enough, she is soon joined by two other Career tributes.

"Um... hi?" I say, my voice ridiculously high in pitch.

"Let's not get caught up in small talk, it won't save you," the group's leader says, and she turns to her female ally and says, "You can take this one, Lyndon."

"Okay," Lyndon says, and she briskly makes her way over to me. The boy follows her, probably in case I try to run, but they needn't worry about that. Now they're here, I'd rather get it over with than to just postpone what is already an inevitability.

The girl circles me for a while, the boy staying maybe a metre away from us. Eventually, she decides to stay crouching behind me.

I've mentally prepared myself for my immediate demise when the District 2 girl makes a strange noise, and then begins hitting her arm, causing her allies to momentarily stop what they are doing. The girl in charge of killing me wraps her arm around my neck, and their male ally takes it upon himself to pin my feet to the ground. They both look at their older ally with puzzled expressions on their faces, as if they were looking for an explanation from her, and it's not long before she offers one.

"A bug bit me, don't blame me for killing it in revenge."

Her response elicits a small smile from the boy, and it makes it slightly harder to see him as a cold-blooded killer when he's actually showing some form of emotion, albeit not towards me.

"Okay," the other girl says, and the boy suddenly lets go of my feet. For a moment, I wonder why he did it, but then the girl swiftly removes her arm from me and I can feel a blade enter my back and I no longer feel the need to question her young ally's motives.

She must be well-trained, because the pain is the last thing I ever feel.

* * *

 _Darryn Allain, 14, Third Male (District 4)_

"Well," I say, breaking the uncomfortable silence that has existed since the girl's cannon went off. Though I remember her to have not been a particularly nice girl back in the Capitol - she was quite snobbish from what I can recall - the sheer terror on her face as I watched Lyndon end her life was something I'd never like to ever have to witness again.

It was horrible. That's all there is to say, really. It was _horrible._ Sometimes I manage to trick myself into thinking that this thing that I volunteered myself for isn't really that bad, but then I see things such as _that_ and I'm brought straight back to reality. Not that I blame Lyndon or anything, because she's only doing what she has to do, but it's still not very pleasant when you're facing someone during their dying moments.

Killing real people - _innocent_ children, even, is an experience not even _close_ to 'killing' dummies back home. You can't see the life draining from a dummy's eyes, after all, but you sure as heck can see that when it's an actual human.

"Let's just get out of here," Lyndon mutters, and I find myself nodding almost instantly. We need to evactuate the area so that her body can be taken away from here.

"Wait," Petra sneers as Lyndon goes to take her knife from the corpse. She and I just stare at our alliance leader, slightly nervous about what she has to say.

"Yes?" Lyndon says, her voice shaking slightly.

"Leave it," Petra orders, her voice even more monotone than normal, and my other ally and I share a puzzled look before I manage to get enough courage to speak.

"Leave what?"

"The knife. Leave it, we don't need it. It'll be too much effort to clean, what with the amount of blood that's on it," Petra answers flippantly.

Lyndon just stands there, stunned, as do I. "I'm not leaving it in her," Lyndon says, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm fine with killing somebody, yes, but I'm not cruel enough to leave my weapons in my victims' bodies if I have the chance to remove them. That's just sick, Petra."

"You've done it before," Petra smugly remarks, and it causes Lyndon's face to redden slightly.

"Well, it's not like I had a lot of choice then, did I, _hm?_ I mean, it was in the _Bl_ _oodbath,_ Petra. It would have been too risky, but now isn't. I'm telling you that I'm not leaving it in her, and I mean every word that comes out of my mouth."

Petra glares at Lyndon, then she folds her arms. "Then you're not as strong as I thought you were," she says, her voice disapproving.

"Fine by me, I can deal with your displeasure if it means I can sleep better at night. Because trust me, I'm not leaving it in her. I'm not a monster, her parents shouldn't have to bury their daughter with a knife still in her body if it's preventable."

"If you disobey me then you're out of the alliance," Petra threatens, but Lyndon doesn't bat an eyelid.

"Fine," she says, and she proceeds to remove the blade. "Goodbye, Petra," she taunts, before turning to me with a slight smile. "Good luck, Darryn - I hope I don't have to face you again, for both of our sakes." Then, she wipes the knife clean on her cardigan and leaves.

Neither my sole remaining ally nor I say anything for a while, but eventually she begins to speak. "Come on, Darryn," she says, her face emotionless.

"No," I say without even thinking, and now it's my turn to be glared at.

"What?"

"I said 'no'," I say, suddenly feeling more confident. With Lyndon gone, she has a lot less power over me, and I'm not afraid to make the most of that. "You treated Lyndon wrong there. I'm not sure what's come over you but I don't like it, Petra. Lyndon's been a good and faithful ally to you and yet you chose to treat her like dirt just then, and all just because of a solitary knife. I'm not having you do the same to me. Goodbye," I say, and with that, I walk away, feeling strangely pleased with myself.

I keep walking non-stop for about half an hour, but then I allow myself to take a break and reflect upon what I've done. I acted rashly, and looking back, I'm not sure leaving Petra was a good idea after all. I've definitely got a bigger target on my back now than I did this morning, that's for sure.

Now I'm alone, I'm going to have to be a lot more alert, or else who knows what could happen to me?

 **Author's note: And another district is out of the running! R.I.P. Velvet. :( The next chapter's already partially written, so hopefully that'll be arriving soon. So yeah, watch out for that! (Also, have I ever mentioned how great Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge is when it comes to motivating me to write? Thanks, MCR. You've unknowingly managed to get me to revise for my important examinations AND write this story with the help of just one album. :D)**

 **I'm aware that this chapter isn't my greatest, sorry about that. :/ But I wanted to get a chapter out within a reasonable time period for once, so... :') Hopefully the shorter wait somewhat makes up for it.**

 _ **14- Velvet Lea, D8f1 - Lyndon Meyers**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Rhoena: 3 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto)**_

 _ **Lyndon: 2 (Malachi, Velvet)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_

 **Questions, yay!**

 **1\. What do you think caused Petra to change? (Hint: It wasn't just some random mood swing.)**

 **2\. Which POV did you prefer?**

 **3\. How was the chapter? (Seriously, guys, I don't mind criticism.)**

 **4\. Any questions about the story?**

 **Goodbye for now, people! Loves you all! :)**

 **-Crystal**


	57. Day 10, Part 2

_Monique Zale, 18, First Female (District 4)_

"Pass me some of that fruit, won't you?" Mason says, looking at the packet of dried berries I'm eating. A sponsor sent me them this morning, and I'm grateful. The food in here is bland, so the berries' sweetness is a nice change. I can see why my ally wants them too - I can see it in his face that he's desperate to just have something which isn't _boring,_ and to me, it seems the perfect opportunity to mess with him.

"Nope!" I exclaim, emphasising the word as much as I can.

Mason rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Monique? I share my gifts with you!" _Yes, you do,_ I think. _And I'll share mine with you too... just not until I've had my fun._

"I know you do," I say, laughing a little. "But these are mine - _all mine!"_ I dramatically pull the bag towards my chest as though I'm trying to protect it, which only serves to irritate him further. Is it a good idea to screw with him like this? _Probably not_. Will I do it regardless? _You bet I will._

With a loud groan, he leans back. "Fuck you," he says as he looks at the sky, but I know who the comment's _really_ directed towards, and it makes me smirk. _Ha._

We are silent for a while, but the lack of conversation makes the sounds of the arena seem all the more eerie, and it's beginning to make me feel a little nervous, so I decide to talk again.

"You know, I was actually going to offer you a few, right?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but it's still loud enough for Mason to hear, because he sits up when he hears my voice.

"Huh?"

With a slight smile, I take some of them out of the packet and hold them out for him. "Here. You can have some. I was only teasing, you know?"

Reluctantly, he accepts the fruit, almost as though he thinks I'm tricking him, and I roll my eyes. "It's not as though it's poisoned or anything, Mason. I was only messing with you, gosh. I just wanted to do something - _anything_ other than just sit about or hunt down tributes or sleep. That gets boring, you know?"

"Yeah," he says, "I get you. Although, I'm not sure _how_ you manage to find enjoyment out of pretending to _hold back_ _berries,_ of all the things you could do..." When he sees me glaring at him, he quickly adds, "I'm not judging you or anything, though. It just seems kind of plain a thing to get so excited about."

I sigh, and shuffle over to his side. Resting my head against his shoulder, I say, "Fair enough. I mean, it _is_ kind of simple, yeah, but it's still a lot more fun than anything else in here. Doing nothing at all would drive somebody _insane."_

" _It would_ ," he says mockingly, patting the top of my head like I'm a toddler.

"Hey!" I yell, batting his arm away from me. "That was uncalled for!"

"It's not much different from what you did," he points out, and I laugh.

"That's true," I sigh, giving in, and he grins.

" _I win,"_ he whispers into my ear a couple of seconds later, his voice quiet enough that any cameras in the area wouldn't be able to make out what he's saying, but it makes me laugh. _This_ is the kind of thing that makes the arena more tolerable - allies teasing one another, acting like we're still just teenagers... because, despite it all, we _are_ still just teenagers, and Mason and I have come to rely on one another to keep ourselves from falling into some kind of deep depression in here, because it's a rather depressing place to be.

Goodness _only_ knows how the tributes without allies are faring, because it's hard enough staying sane _with_ company - it must be Hell _without_ it!

* * *

 _Rowan Leyton, 12, Third Male (District 12)_

I'm pretty certain that I'm the last 12-year-old remaining at this point. I mean, there can't be more than 20 of us remaining now, so the chances of anybody else my age being alive would be a miracle. It's pretty amazing that I'm alive still, to be honest. A 12-year-old boy from District 12 would hardly be most people's pick to survive over a week in this place.

Unfortunately, that means that people don't seem to have much faith in me. Sponsors certainly don't seem to be a fan of me, because I'm surviving on just a few nuts a day at the moment, and I'm nearly out of supplies altogether. If I don't get any gifts soon, then the biggest threat to my life will no longer be the other tributes: it will be starvation.

I don't think Olive thought I'd get this far, because I never got told much advice about what to do in situations like this. To be honest, I didn't get a lot of advice about most things I have been through in here.

Nobody warned me that my former ally could actually turn out to be a homicidal maniac.

I have to force myself to push Leone out of my mind. I can't dwell on stuff like that - I just have to be glad that I didn't die because of him, and I need to move on. I don't _need_ allies, I've proven that already, I hope. I wouldn't have lasted this long if I was entirely dependent on other people, after all.

It's getting dark, so I decide to settle down for the night. It's hardly like I have anything better to do, is it? I mean, I'm not the kind of person to hunt down others, and I'd really rather avoid anywhere where there might be mutts. This area of the arena seems to be safe enough for now, so staying here overnight is probably not a bad plan.

Well, okay: it's not a great plan, because _anybody_ could come by me during the night, but it's the best I've got, so I'm just going to go with it.

* * *

 _Ally Johnson, 14, Third Female (District 4)_

The darkness surrounds me, almost _consuming_ me - or, at least, that is how it feels. See, when you're in the arena, your imagination sometimes runs away with you, and you become terrified of things that really aren't that scary at all. For example, take the sky right now. I _know_ that it is harmless, but there's something at the back of my mind which is making me slightly paranoid, and now I can't help but worry about the possibility that the night itself is a muttation.

It's a ridiculous idea, of course, and I manage to push it away for a while, but it's also an idea which is beyond my control. I didn't _choose_ to implant such thoughts inside my brain, and yet _they_ chose to settle there anyway.

Life likes to play tricks on us all sometimes, I suppose. It's just unfortunate if that trick just so happens to be something like paranoia at a time when everybody is already feeling mildly paranoid. I'm re-teaching myself how to be calm and collected once again, though. In the arena, my survival is resting on how clear my thoughts are, after all.

Then again, when I've seen such things as one of my former allies killing another, can my thoughts ever _really_ be calm again? I doubt they can.

I'm probably going to be stuck like this forever... or, however long my 'forever' happens to be. Given the fact that most of the untrained tributes seem to have died now, and almost everyone who remains is scarily brutal, I''m going to take a wild guess and say that my end is probably coming quickly in my direction. It's not what I would like to happen - I mean, I'm 14 years old... it's hardly the age many people aspire for their life to end at, me included.

Sighing, I tuck my knees to my chest. This is horrible, just waiting for something- _anything_ to happen. Even the Capitol anthem playing, as sombre as it is, would be a welcome thing right now, just because it would take my mind off everything that's inevitably going on in here.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my back, and I gasp. Turning my head quickly, I see what I remember to be the oldest girl from District 6 standing directly behind me, her clammy hand still attached to the blade stuck inside me.

"What the heck, Rhoena? I thought you were going to do it quickly, not let her bleed out!"

Rhoena's face fills with terror, and she pulls out the blade. Quickly distancing herself from me, I hear her say, "I misjudged, okay? I was trying to!" She walks over to her ally - Tiara, I think her name is - and the other girl smiles at her sadly, as though she was acknowledging that Rhoena not killing me instantly wasn't at all intentional. I can tell that the injury she gave me is going to cause me to die very soon regardless, so there's no real need for her to get angry at her.

"Come on, let's go," Tiara says, pulling her ally's arm gently as she walks away. My killer takes one final look at me, her eyes showing the tiniest bit of remorse and pity, and then she shakes her head and leaves. _At least she wasn't someone completely heartless,_ I think. There's a chance that she'll remember me, at least. That's all I can ask for from my murderer, I suppose.

As I slowly bleed out, I can't help but wonder if I'll be welcomed with open arms into Hell. I mean, I'd like to think I'd go to Heaven, but I think I ruled out even being sent to Purgatory when I killed that girl. Murderers are their own special breed of evil, and I fit in with them, as much as I hate to think it.

Most of the other tributes probably hate me. I mean, I'm from District 4, so the outer districts won't like me. And because my alliance was hardly a typical Career alliance, I doubt that those from those districts will welcome me kindly either. I don't know whose cannon it was that sounded this morning, but if it was Delta's, then it wouldn't matter anyway. She won't go to Hell - she's never killed anybody, after all. And Ellia was a darling at heart, so she'll more than likely be eventually pardoned for all of her sins. Unless Sebastian died this morning, I'm going to be all alone.

That said, I'm not sure I actually _want_ for him to be there to welcome me into the afterlife. After seeing what he did to Elle, I'm not sure I'll even be able to look him in the eyes again. I'm not sure I'll have much choice though, in the end. As much as I hate him, I'll need the company and he's the only tribute who would probably do so much as look at me who's evil enough to get sent to that place with me.

Maybe he'll have some kind of reasonable explanation for it all. It seems overly optimistic and hopeful, but a dying girl can dream, right? Maybe we'll be able to patch things up and become friends again in there, supporting each other through the nightmarish eternity. Maybe, just _maybe_ everything will work out to be okay...

As I take my very last breath, I can't help but feel anxious about what is yet to come, but I know one thing for sure: when I get to Hell, I'm going to want an explanation from my former ally for what he did.

 **Author's note: I swear, I always end up giving longer POVs to the tributes who are dying. XD Sorry about that, I'll have to try to even it out a bit more between surviving and dying tributes' POV lengths in the future.**

 **Also, to answer a review question: no, I don't have a set update schedule. I tried that once but it just stressed me out because I wasn't able to keep to it. I have to be in a certain mood to write and sometimes I can go weeks without having any inspiration whatsoever, so yeah. The chapters just get uploaded whenever they happen to get uploaded. :') Sorry if that's not what you hoped to hear.**

 _ **13- Ally Johnson, D4f3 - Rhoena Lyter**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 4 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto, Ally)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Lyndon: 2 (Malachi, Velvet)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Ally: 1 (Centra)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_

 **Again, sorry about my writing this chapter. I just really wanted to have at least a couple of updates within a decent amount of time from one another, you know? :) Hopefully it's not as bad as I think it is. XD**

 **Okay, questions:**

 **1\. How was the chapter?**

 **2\. Which POV did you prefer?**

 **3\. Did you expect Ally to die yet?**

 **4\. Any predictions about who'll make up the final four?**

 **Bye for now!**

 **-Crystal**


	58. Day 11, Part 1

_Lennon Chai, 17, First Female (District 7)_

I can't say for certain, considering that we don't have watches in here, but I don't think that I could have gotten more that two or three hours of sleep last night _at the very maximum._ If I had, I'd be a lot less tired than I am. As it is, I can barely manage to keep my eyes open for more than a minute at a time. Sure, I didn't wake up all that long ago, but general sleep deprivation can really take its toll on a boy.

 _A girl,_ I correct my thoughts, because even though I know that I'm truly male, and even though my hair is now short again, the Capitol don't know my reasons for anything like that. I may have had a few moments where I've forgotten what impact my actions may have on me, but I haven't done anything _too_ questionable in the sponsors' eyes, I hope. I have to try and keep up the pretence that I'm a perfect specimen of a _girl,_ because otherwise I could end up suffering from some horrible consequences. For one thing, the very idea that I may have hidden such a huge part of myself could easily lose me the support of the few Capitol sponsors that I'm fortunate enough to still have, even though it's all for my own protection. They wouldn't see that though - they're all a little too naïve to understand my struggle.

So I'm just going to have to continue to hide my true self until I either emerge victorious or, more likely, until I am murdered. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't stand a chance against any of the trained Careers, and they're pretty much the only other tributes now, so my next encounter will likely end up being my last.

It's not what I want to happen, but it's what's almost inevitable, so I may as well get over it. Besides, I kind of deserve death - I did push that other girl onto that mace, after all. I'll have to face the concequences sometime, I'm sure, because karma has a habit of being a bitch.

With a groan, I sit up and take a packet of peanuts out of my bag. A sponsor sent them, and it sickens me to think that the only reason they supported me was probably because I'm a killer, but I need to eat them regardless, or else I'll be dead without even having to interact with any other living beings.

* * *

 _Sebastian Renier, 16, Second Male (District 4)_

"Why do you have a locket?" Delta suddenly comes out with, and my initial shock causes me to let out a small chuckle. Laughter is supposed to make us humans make ourselves and the people around us happier, and yet as it slips out of my lips, I can't help but feel anything other than pure _guilt._ Ellia died at my own hand - I _stole her life from her,_ and yet here I am, looking _happy._ It's not fair - not at all. So I quickly put my left hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from continuing.

Rather than talking, I open it up to reveal the pictures inside. "Who's that?" Delta quietly asks me as she points to Isida, and a small smile creeps back onto my face, despite my efforts to leave it behind with the laughter.

"She's my little sister," I whisper, and Delta raises her eyebrows at me.

"I didn't know you had siblings..."

' _Sibling._ One. Singular. Isida and I are the only ones."

Delta offers a slight smile, and asks, "Why didn't you mention her?" It makes me frown for a moment.

"I never even said her name?" I ask in mild disbelief. Though I'm aware that I haven't discussed her in detail, I'd have thought I'd have mentioned her in passing once or twice regardless... "I guess it must have slipped my mind. You know, what with us being in the middle of a death match and all..." I attempt to make my voice sound joking, aware that if comments such as that one aren't passed off as being innocent witticisms, the gamemakers might have something to say - or _do -_ about it.

"She looks sweet," Delta remarks.

"She is," I respond, suddenly feeling full of pride: pride that a killer like me should _never_ have the honour of feeling. "What about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters back home?"

Delta nods happily. "Yeah, I do. Two brothers - both older than me, thankfully. Aiden and Anthony. I love them to bits, they're the best brothers I could possibly ask for."

"What are they like?" I ask, feeling curious. In all honesty, I'm liking this conversation. It's basic, sure, but we're just talking as though we weren't stuck in the middle of the arena, as though at least one of us isn't required to die within the next week or so. It's _nice._

My ally moves around a bit, as though she's trying to get comfortable - or as comfortable as the muddy ground can be - before answering me. "Well, Aiden's clever. He helps me sometimes with my school work when I'm stuck. We don't see each other a lot," she says, sounding thoughtful, "but when we do, we have a tonne of fun.

"Anthony, he works in the same power plant as I did. He and I, we're quite alike in many ways. We both love science and maths, for example..."

Delta and I continue to discuss our families for a while, the familiarity of it all being quite a comfort to the both of us. But then suddenly, our conversation is abruptly ended by an announcement.

"Attention, all tributes. From now onwards, no more sponsor gifts may be sent. I repeat: there are to be no more sponsor gifts. That is all for now. As always, may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."

I grab Delta's wrist and hold on tightly. She tries to bat my hand off, but I refuse to let go of her just yet. This announcement means that, barring each other's support, we're on our own now. We're going to be relying on one another more than either of us could have ever imagined before.

This Hunger Games just got a whole lot harder.

* * *

 _Tiara Holden, 18, First Female (District 1)_

"Are they even allowed to do that?" I ask, not to anybody in particular, but Rhoena responds regardless.

"It's the fucking Hunger Games, Tiara: I seriously doubt the gamemakers have to follow _any_ rules." She sighs, before adding, "Other than perhaps 'make sure all but one of the kids die in visually pleasing ways', that is."

"Okay, okay - no need to be so sarcastic, Rho, okay?" My ally raises her eyebrows and I stare at her. "What?"

"You do realise you said 'okay' three times in that sentence, right?"

"And?" I ask impatiently. I don't see why she would have an issue with my _vocabulary,_ of all things.

"It's repetitive - _boring._ Heck, it's like a verbal representation of this damn arena."

My jaw drops. Rhoena's not normally this irritable. I mean, she's had a few moments over the past couple of days where she's been quite annoyed, but she's not gone out of her way to deliberately _insult_ me before - not as far as I can remember, at least.

"What _is_ your problem, okay?" I ask, and I see her mutter something under her breath. I can't hear her, and I'm guessing that's probably deliberate, but through trying to read her lips I can tell it's got something to do with 'okay' and 'again'. _Ugh._

I'm almost expecting her to say something to me that I can _actually hear,_ but she decides against it, so neither of us make any kind of attempt to communicate with one another for a while. In the end, I get bored, and so I poke her in an attempt to get her attention.

"What?" she asks, frowning.

"The silence was getting to me."

"Oh," she says, furrowing her brow. "Well, I'm pretty bored. Let's go hunting."

I'm taken aback slightly, and it takes me a moment or two to fully comprehend what she has said - _especially_ after the state she was in after her kill yesterday. " _You_ want to go hunting? _You?"_

She shrugs nonchalantly. "Nothing better to do. Let's go." Though it's not what I expected her to want to do today, I'm not going to be the one to complain about the chance to kill tributes - it's what I volunteered for, after all, and so I'm ready to go within minutes. _This is going to be fun._

 **Author's note: So, I kept wondering whether or not to upload this over the past few days because it doesn't feel right to me? But whatever changes I make make no difference to that, so I figure I'm just doomed to hate this chapter. (Sorry, chapter...)**

 _ **NO DEATHS THIS CHAPTER**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 4 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto, Ally)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 _ **Petra: 3 (Charity, Pepper, Troye)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Lyndon: 2 (Malachi, Velvet)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_

 **Questions?**

 **1\. How was the chapter?**

 **2\. Which POV did you least like?**

 **3\. Which did you prefer?**

 **4\. Who do you think will die next?**

 **Okay, so I'm going to go now. Loves you all!**

 **-Crystal**


	59. Day 11, Part 2

_Invictus Nero, 14, Third Male (District 2)_

This is all just boring as heck now. No allies means no company, and that's just torturous now. I could deal with it at first, sure, but my limited ability to survive without human interaction hasn't really been helping me these past couple of days.

Heck, it hasn't been helping me since we got put in this arena and I couldn't find my ally. My solitude has lasted for far too long now, and I don't think I deserve to be punished like this anymore. Unfortunately, most of the remaining tributes are total psychopaths, and we're nearing the point where alliances would usually split anyway, so I know for a fact that, battles aside, I'm not getting any more human company in this place.

With a sigh, I lie down. There's nothing better for me to do, after all. Nothing I do now can gain me any sponsors, and by the same logic, I can't lose any sponsors by doing nothing at all. I'm not allowed any sponsor gifts no matter what I do, so I may as well stay out of harm's way for now.

I'm going to have to fight at some point regardless, because the gamemakers would probably try to kill me off if they deemed me to not be interesting enough in general anymore, but I think I can afford to take a short break. After all, an hour or two spent napping is very unlikely to completely alter the Capitol's opinion of me.

With that in mind, I close my eyes and hope that nothing happens when I'm not actually awake.

I'm not sure how long I've been asleep for, but it must have been a long time because it's getting dark when I finally open my eyes, and the Capitol seal's in the sky. No faces follow though, and it makes me sigh. The more tributes there are alive, the higher the chance that one of them - or, worse, a group of them - will find me, and I'd stand no chance against their weapons when I'm sleeping.

* * *

 _Rhoena Lyter, 18, First Female (District 6)_

"You were right - there were no deaths today," I announce as I make my way back over to a very smug Tiara.

"I'm almost always right, you know that," she laughs.

" _Almost,"_ I mock as I sit down, though she doesn't seem to notice the tone of my voice and its significance.

With a roll of her eyes, she says, "That's what I said, right? ' _Almost_ always right'... I'm not so arrogant that I'm unable to admit that I'm capable of making the occasional error, Rho, don't you worry. That'd just be ridiculous." I nod, not wanting to unnecessarily cause any conflicts. She'll be dead in a couple of days anyway, so there's no point in starting any arguments now.

Tiara just stares at me for a moment, and then she squints her eyes and frowns. "Rho, are you okay? You're awfully quiet today..."

"What?" I ask, taken aback a little. "Y- yes, I am _absolutely_ fine," I quickly add, throwing my arms around dramatically. _Gosh, I must look ridiculous._

"You need sleep," my ally mutters, and I just nod. I _feel_ perfectly fine, but any opportunity to have some time away from her voice is not one that I'm going to turn down.

"Go and lie down over there," she says, gesturing in a seemingly random direction, "I'll stay awake a while and keep watch."

"Actually," I reply, faking a yawn as I try to keep a giveaway smirk from appearing on my face, "I think I'll just stay where I am. Wouldn't want to fall asleep halfway there, after all." Tiara looks at me with confusion on her face, almost as though she's doubting whether or not I'm actually going to go to sleep on the spot. _Why yes, Tiara, I am,_ I think, though I don't say it out loud. Instead, I simply say, "Goodnight," and close my eyes.

I'm sure she'll be able to deal with anything that may happen overnight on her own.

* * *

 _Petra Silverwood, 17, First Female (District 2)_

 _Fuck,_ I think as I wake up. One of the first things I notice is that it's still dark, so I can't have gotten much sleep. Either that, or I slept through an entire day, though the latter seems very unlikely - I'm still alive, and if I was out of it for 24 hours then _somebody_ would have almost inevitably happened upon me and took it upon themselves to slit my throat. I'm a Career - I _know_ that the other tributes probably want me dead so much more than they want any other tribute to die. That, paired with the fact that I feel ridiculously sleep deprived, would really suggest that I've only been asleep for an hour or two, which isn't at all ideal, but it's still better than if I'd have slept for twelve times that amount of time.

The amount of sleep I've gotten isn't the real issue here though: no, it's what has happened over the past couple of days. The last thing I can remember clearly is getting bitten by a bug. After that, it's all a blur. I can vaguely recall majorly pissing off Lyndon and somehow losing both her and Darryn in the process, and I can remember hunting without success on my own during what I presume must have been this morning, but I can't really think of anything else. Any cannons that went off, any faces in the sky... they're gone, removed from my memory.

 _Damn you, bug,_ I think, because I'm fairly sure that this whole thing was its fault. It has to have been a muttation, because no natural beast would be able to cause me to change so much for such a limited amount of time. No, I don't have any doubts about it whatsoever: that little creature was the product of a gamemaker's imagination.

I want to do some kind of act that will show my anger to the gamemakers, but I stop myself. Pissing them off wouldn't be a good idea, especially not when so few tributes remain. As much as I hate to admit it, the Capitol probably don't _need_ me anymore. I'm going to have to keep on proving myself to them to stay in their favour. Getting a kill would be a good way to show them my worth, but like nearly every plan in existence, it has its flaws. Its main fault would have to be the simple fact that I don't actually know about any other tribute's exact whereabouts.

On the plus side, that's something that I should easily be able to resolve. It's still night, so most of the others are probably asleep. Anybody's who's not got an ally to watch out for them as they rest is going to be at their most vulnerable right now, so I should probably get moving quickly if I want to take advantage of the time of day.

Feeling hopeful, I get up and begin to hunt down other tributes. For a while, there's nothing at all. After maybe an hour or two, I find a rabbit with an unusually violent temperament. I conclude that it's likely a muttation, and so I kill it before it causes me any major harm - the few scratches it made on my skin didn't cause me to bleed, so I think I'll be fine. If I don't manage to find any tributes, then hopefully the Capitol will be satisfied with the ending of the mutt's life for now.

I keep walking onwards for quite some time, and it seems as though the sky is beginning to get just the tiniest bit lighter when I finally hear what sounds like a human's heavy breathing. From here, it sounds like it's probably them snoring, but it could just as easily be an awake tribute who's absolutely terrified.

As I travel in the direction the promising noises seem to be coming from, it becomes apparent to me that yes, it's the former option: there is a child asleep somewhere nearby. I begin to tiptoe, trying as hard as I can not to disturb whoever it is before I'm in a position where I know for sure that they can't get away from me, but somehow, the lack of light gets the better of me and I trip over something - probably just a rock - and find myself letting out the tiniest of screams as I fall to the ground. I check my knees for scrapes, but I'm somehow undamaged.

What I originally thought to be an unfortunate little accident, however, turns out to most fortunate after all.

A clear scurrying sound has started since I fell, and I can hear someone lightly panting in the direction it's coming from. I have little doubt that both sounds are coming from the same tribute - the one who was asleep until just a minute ago, who I must have awaken - and they sound out of breath, so I very much doubt that they'll be putting up much of a fight. _Good._

I begin to walk as fast as I can in the tribute's new direction, cursing my inconveniently short legs as I go. Regardless of any physical disadvantages I may have, however, it doesn't take me long to catch up with them.

"Well, look what we have here," I say with a slight smirk as the small boy comes into view. He looks awfully young and weak - in fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he was the youngest tribute remaining.

I briefly wonder who will become the youngest after I take his life, but I quickly abandon those thoughts. I don't even remember who died recently, thanks to all this shit I've been through because of that stupid bug, and so even a seemingly reasonable guess could easily turn out to be completely incorrect.

"Please don't hurt me," he says, his voice too high-pitched and his words all beginning to blend into one another. I roll my eyes impatiently and ignore his plea.

"How'd you even get this far, huh?" I ask, tilting my head. "You're too young to still be alive."

"B- but I am, _I am!"_ he stutters, and I roll my eyes. He's wasting his words - it's _pathetic,_ honestly.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for this," I say as I walk up to him. I take a knife and drag it across his throat, causing his eyes to widen. "What? You didn't expect me to drag this out, did you?" The boy opens his mouth as though he is about to speak, but apparently talking is too painful when your throat is cut open, because I can't hear any of his words. I can tell he's not going to survive, so there's no point in me staying.

With that in mind, I make my way through the rocky terrain, hoping that I might somehow come across another tribute during the night to take out my rage on, because goodness only knows that I need the distraction.

 **Author's note: So, this chapter focused more on the evening/night than the afternoon - sorry about that, it's just how it had to work out for this particular chapter.**

 **Apologies about my absence - I had a lot going on in real life, and I couldn't really focus on this because of it. So, so sorry about that.**

 _ **12- Rowan Leyton, D12m3 - Petra Silverwood**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Petra: 4 (Charity, Pepper, Troye, Rowan)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 4 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto, Ally)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Lyndon: 2 (Malachi, Velvet)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 _ **Lennon: 1 (Radia)**_

 _ **Rowan: 1 (Kozuki)**_

 **1\. Which was your least favourite POV?**

 **2\. Which did you prefer?**

 **3\. General opinion of the chapter? (Unnecessary question mark, yay. Sorry.)**

 **Bye for now, hopefully this next chapter won't take as long as this one did! :)**

 **-Crystal**


	60. Day 12, Part 1

_Lyndon Meyers, 16, Second Female (District 1)_

For the second day in a row, I find myself waking up alone. Back when I had allies, I took them for granted - I see that now, and if I'd have realised just how difficult it is in here on your own, I might have tried to encourage Darryn to come with me when I left Petra. But no - instead, I acted rashly and left without thinking about anything of the sort, and now I'm paying the price through my solitude.

I allow myself to eat just a couple of pieces of dried fruit so I actually have the energy to function throughout the morning, but I save the rest for later. Without sponsors to help me out, the supplies that I have at the moment are all that I have for the forseeable future as well.

With a yawn, I force myself to get up from the ground and walk a little. Sitting down all day is just likely to make me feel even more exhausted, and that's quite possibly the very worst thing I need right now.

Sure enough, the light exercise makes me feel a little better, but then I stop moving suddenly, slightly scared, when I hear a suspicious noise. _What was that?_ I wonder. It sounded like there was someone else here, and I don't like that idea.

A couple of seconds later, I hear it again.

On one hand, it's probably just my overactive imagination, but on the other hand, there's a chance that it could be an actual danger to my life, and the risk certainly sounds as though it would likely outweigh the consequences.

I draw my knife as I edge nearer to the sound, and I've almost convinced myself that it's all in my head when suddenly, a hand is grasping mine and the knife is no longer inside my fist. I turn around, anxious that it's almost certainly another tribute, and my worries are confirmed. It's a girl - outer district, from the looks of it - and she appears to be about my age, maybe a year above or below me but nothing more than that.

"Um... hi?" the tribute nervously greets me with an anxious giggle.

"Give me my knife back," I say bluntly, not in the mood for smalltalk. She scoffs.

"Don't be daft. I'm not going to do that, you'd just kill me the moment it's in your hands again. No - I'll keep it, thank you very much."

 _Great,_ I think, and I get the urge to roll my eyes. I don't do it, of course, because that would just be asking for trouble in a situation that I'm quite clearly not in control of right now, but there's nothing to prevent me from cursing internally instead.

"I know what you're thinking," she says, and I look at her with curiousity. "You think I'm weak, that this is all for show. That's all you think of me, isn't it?" It's hard to tell if she's acting or if she's genuinely distressed by the idea of people not taking her seriously, but I'm not exactly keen to find out either. Deciding not to push it too far just yet, I keep my words simple when I finally reply.

"You're not going to kill me," I say calmly, my voice slow and steady as the words come out.

The tribute raises her eyebrow. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"You don't have the guts to end a life," I reply, blinking slowly as I begin to doubt my words just the sightest bit. _Does she, though? After all, she must have some sort of skill to still be living..._ I take a small step backwards and hope she doesn't notice, though when I find her staring at my feet I can tell that she's not as naïve as she looks.

"You're scared, aren't you?" she sneers, though when I look at her own eyes they appear full of fear, and I come to the conclusion that she's just putting on an act. If all goes well, she'll drop my knife and be running away at some point within the next five minutes.

"No," I say, confident in my newfound knowledge, "not in the slightest."

"You're scared," she repeats, and I tilt my head in confusion.

"You know, repeating something like a mantra doesn't make it true."

She hesitates for a moment, and I wonder why, but then a fierce look appears on her face and she raises her hand to my neck. I feel a sharp burst of pain and then the slightest trickle of warm blood starts to make its way down to my collarbone. "You thought I wouldn't do it, didn't you?" she asks, somewhat nervously, and I gulp but the small insicion on my skin makes it painful.

Realising that my life is genuinely at risk if I don't get away, I try to make my facial expressions look somewhat like those of the terrified girl I killed the other day in the hope that if I look scared, she'll believe it and I'll have a better chance of escape. Luckily, she seems to buy it, and when she inches her hand slightly back from my neck, I push her away from me and begin to run as fast as I can.

Unfortunately for me, she seems to have more energy than I do, and she soon catches me up and pins me down. _Fuck,_ I think. _There's no way I'm getting out of this one._

"You think I'm 'all talk', do you?" she sneers, and I shake my head violently. Sure, that's what I _thought,_ but now I'm getting a lot more worried. "Good," she mutters, though she sounds a little uncertain of herself, and it gives me hope that if I don't anger her unnecessarily, she might let me go in the end. Of course, that's unlikely, but some hope is always better than none whatsoever... right?

Unfortunately for me, that all goes within seconds, because before I know it, the knife is back on my neck and she's dragging it across, pushing her hand against my open mouth as she does so to muffle my screams. I bite down hard on her palm - a sort of final revenge, as such - and she whimpers a little. _Good. That's what you get if you slit my fucking throat, you bitch._

She pulls her hand away and shuffles backwards, clearly trying to distance herself from my dying self. I want to shake my head at her, to show her my _disappointment_ in the way she chose to kill me, but I figure that it would just cause me additional unnecessary suffering, and I don't want to experience that as my world turns black. No - instead, the slight stinging feeling subsides a bit, and then my whole body goes numb and I can tell that it's the end.

 _Goodbye, world._

* * *

 _Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)_

"I wish that was a tribute," Monique groans as she wipes a bloody knife on my shorts. I'm not happy to be used as a human towel, but for some reason, I don't feel like challenging my ally when she has a sharp blade on my leg. Something tells me that that probably wouldn't end well for me, and I'm not up for taking the risk.

Once she is content with the lack of blood on the weapon, she smiles at me and I know that it's safe for me to get up and retrieve the deer she slaughtered. It hasn't moved since she slit its throat, so it seems fairly safe to assume that it's definitely dead. Sure enough, when I kick its body it doesn't give off any reactions that you'd expect a living creature to.

"You don't need to always doubt my kills, Mason," Monique mutters in disapproval. I'm not sure when she appeared behind me, but I didn't hear her moving. If I had any doubts whatsoever about where her loyalty lies, I'd definitely be concerned by her stealth. Fortunately, I know she's on my side for now. We've agreed to protect one another until we split as an alliance, and that time hasn't come yet.

I crouch down and take a pocket knife out of my cardigan and begin to chop the animal into pieces. Venison will be a nice change from the dried fruit and nuts we've been eating, even if it would have been even better if it was an actual teenager who she ended the life of.

Monique begins to make a fire as I finish preparing the meat. It'll go off soon, and there's no way that we can manage to eat an entire dear between the two of us right now, so we can afford to be picky and only choose the best cuts to consume. Once done, I take them over to her and we cook them over the fire. She takes hers away from the flames too soon for my liking, and when she bites into it, a few droplets of blood begin to drip down her chin and stain her lips red. She looks truly psychotic, and sure, some would find it alarming, but I bet there are a lot of guys in the Capitol who find it hot.

Personally, I prefer girls when they _don't_ look like they've just murdered someone and ate their corpse, but then again, I entered myself into a contest that's based on child murder, so who am I to judge other people's deranged fantasies?

By the time I'm content with how well my own food is cooked, my ally has almost finished eating. When she sees the colour of my venison, she scowls. "That's going to taste vile, that is. You've overcooked it."

I shrug. "I can deal with that if it means I won't get some kind of food poisoning from it," I retort, and she just stares at me as I begin eat, unable to come up with a reasonable comeback. "Ha! Got you there, haven't I?" I say, and she smirks, the smirk eventually turning into laughter.

"You're such a child, Mason," she giggles, poking my arm jokingly.

"You're not exactly the most responsible adult out there either, Monique," I reply with a grin after I've finished eating, pulling her into a hug when she least expects it, earning me a few glares from her when I let go.

If she was from District 2, I think we'd have been good friends.

* * *

 _Delta Joule, 17, First Female (District 5)_

"How are we both still alive?" I ask Sebastian, my words blunt, only half-expecting him to answer me. It doesn't particularly surprise me when he just shrugs a little.

"Luck," he says eventually. "That's all I can put it down to. Heck, that's all I can put anything in here down to." He doesn't mention that there's also probably a lot of intervention by the gamemakers, but both of us know it. Saying it out loud would just make us ideal targets for such intervention, and we can't risk that - not when we've come so far in the arena.

"I suppose that luck plays a big part, yes," I mutter in agreement, wording it carefully so that I'm neither lying about my views on the matter nor making it too obvious that I believe some other forces are at play at the same time.

"Yup," he says quietly, a small smile making its way onto his face. I laugh.

"Yup? Really, Sebastian? I thought better of you than that," I tease, and now he's laughing too.

"Hey! Don't judge me for my choice in-"

Sebastian stops mid-sentence and nervously points in my direction. "What?" I ask, mildly annoyed yet also sort of concerned, but he doesn't get around to responding.

He doesn't _need_ to respond, because it all becomes apparent pretty much immediately.

"Well, well, well," comes a voice from behind me, and I slowly turn around to see who it is.

"Please just leave us be," my ally whispers, grabbing my arm as the other boy circles us. "Go now, and nobody has to get hurt."

"Don't play the 'Mr. Nice Guy' act with me," he says, throwing a pointed glance at Seb, "I know you volunteered. You're no better than the rest of us, so get your head out of your arse and draw your weapon like an actual Career tribute would. Don't be a fucking poser, nobody likes a _poser..."_

The boy continues to taunt him, my ally's face gradually getting paler and paler, and all I can do is hope that he's not taking it to heart as much as I think he probably is. Eventually, I zone out a little, getting rather bored with it all. From what I can see, he's all talk. Behind the cockiness, he's probably just as scared as the rest of us are - after all, he's all by himself. The only way he's going to attack us is if Seb or I attack first, and I'm not intending on that happening if I can help it. It's perfectly possible for us all to come out of this encounter unharmed if he just stops verbally attacking Seb for a minute and sees sense.

Eventually, though, when I'm no longer paying attention to his words, I hear my ally yell, "Shut up!" and I know that we're screwed.

"Oh, _really?"_ the boy sneers. "Is that all it takes, huh? Mentioning Ell-"

Seb draws his knife, and before I can blink it's in the boy's arm, the pain causing him to stop mid-sentence. Realising what he has done, he pulls the blade from his flesh and takes a couple of steps backwards.

"You'll pay for that," the injured boy says when he has overcome his initial shock.

"L- look," I say immediately, not wanting things to escalate, "we're leaving now, okay? If you let us go calmly, then nobody has to die. If I were you, I'd seriously consider that option, because there are two of us versus only one of you, so I don't think it's hard to tell who would likely win that battle..."

He looks as though he's contemplating my words for a while, and just as I'm about to signal to Seb that we should back away while he's distracted, he snaps back into reality and shakes his head. "I want to win this thing, and that isn't going to happen unless I eliminate all my opponents - _all_ of you. This is the best chance I've had in a long time to get closer to that goal, so excuse me for thinking it a good idea to take the opportunity at hand to kill you both."

Seb and I turn our heads to face one another. _This is not good,_ I think, and Seb shuts his eyes and shakes his head. The other boy draws his sword, and it makes our knives look feeble in comparison. _We really should have found some better weapons,_ I think.

He points his weapon towards Seb, who takes a few cautious steps back, before changing his mind and pointing it at me. "Not so fast," I mutter, and I take a carefully timed step to the left as he runs at me.

"You weren't supposed to fucking move!" the boy screams, and I roll my eyes. Either he's incredibly dumb, or he's overtired and not thinking straight. Since he's still alive, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and guess that it's the latter.

"You sure you want a fight right now?" I ask him, silently praying that he'll say 'no' and let us go in peace, as unlikely as I know that is.

"I'm not backing down now," he says. "No chance."

Seb and I exchange looks again, and I gulp. _This is it._

Realising that we're going to need to be co-ordinated to stand any chance against our opponent with a much better weapon, I nod at my ally, hoping he can understand the message I'm trying to convey through my actions, but he just looks at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

I can only hope that he comes to the same realisation himself.

"Fine," I say, trying to sound brave. "Have it your way then. Just don't go blaming us when you lose the battle."

I look over at my ally one last time, and he looks pretty shocked by my apparent new-found confidence, and I smile to myself in the knowledge that my tactics seem to be working. As much as I hate pretending to be less afraid than I actually am, and as much as it feels like I'm being a horribly deceitful being, I know that it's necessary right now. That boy was looking at us like we were easy targets, and it was unnerving me. Now, he looks slightly taken aback, and I'm much more comfortable with him when he's nervous than when he's confrontational.

Knowing that it's probably the least focused he'll be for a while, I lunge at him and stab him in the chest. It's not a fatal wound, I know that, but the pain causes him to press his hands against the wound, dropping his sword on the ground in the process. I quickly bend down and grab it, but he presses his foot into the bottom of my spine before I can get up again. I know that, given the type of shoes we're all wearing, he won't be causing me any permanent damage, but it makes me hesitant to move nonetheless.

"Get off her!" Seb shouts, but when I twist my head to look up at our opponent I can see him smirking. It's clear to me that he just thinks my ally is one big joke, but Sebastian doesn't seem to realise it, and I don't want to be the one to knock his confidence so I don't say anything. Instead, I let him run at the boy, who deflects him with one of his arms, the other kept by his chest. His outer wrist ends up with a small cut from the knife, but he seems rather unbothered by it.

I guess being stabbed in the chest makes little injuries like the one on his arm seem insignificant in comparison.

Sensing that he's more bothered with my ally at the moment than he is with me, I grab his leg and push it off my back, standing up before he can stop me from doing so. When I look at the scene unfolding, I realise that Sebastian no longer has his knife. Instead, its handle sits securely in the other boy's fist, the blade pointing towards my ally. When I look properly, I notice a few cuts on stomach, though the lack of any screaming makes me hope that they're just superficial.

"Um... Delta? A little help here?" Seb prompts, his voice unnaturally high, and I quickly pass him the sword. I know he's been trained back in District 4, so I just have to hope that he paid a fair amount of attention to whatever kind of sword the one I'm giving him is. "Thanks," he mutters, a slight nod of his head accompanying his words.

"No problem," I say, almost instantly regretting my word choice because sure, passing a sword may not have been problematic, but the other boy is most certainly still an issue. He stares at us awkwardly, as though he's unsure how to proceed now that Seb and I are properly armed. _Ha,_ I think. _Maybe next time, you'll think twice before messing with other tributes._

He soon makes his move. When neither of us are expecting him to imminently strike, he reaches out and knocks the sword out of Seb's hands. He attempts to do the same to my knife right after, but I'm on alert and all he gets out of it is a bloody palm.

"Fuck you," he mutters under your breath quietly. It's so quiet, in fact, that I doubt any cameras would be able to pick up on it, but I bet that that hardly matters to him since the Capitol clearly wasn't the target of his words in the first place.

Taking advantage of his vulnerable moment, I manage to push him back, his left leg briefly bending into a shape I didn't even realise legs could be as he falls, and he just looks at me, eyes full of fury. It makes me gulp - I'm really not cut out for this 'fighting and killing people' thing, and it's pretty clear. In fact, I'd be surprised if there were any people in the Capitol who had faith in me when compared to my opponents.

The boy gets up and begins to slowly walk nearer, limping slightly on the leg I managed to injure, and I realise that this is our moment to escape. _"Run!"_ I scream, looking my ally in the eyes. He gulps, but then I add, "I'll follow straight after you, just go!" and he doesn't need telling again, though he does keep looking back at me, his eyes full of concern, until I manage to kick the other boy to the ground and run after him. By the time I reach where he is, I can feel my forehead soaked with sweat. We reach somewhere that seems relatively safe, and I wipe my brow on my cardigan sleeve. Annoyingly, it doesn't make me feel much happier anyway. The main difference is how wet the wool that sits against my wrist is.

I shake my arm a little in an attempt to get rid of some of the droplets of sweat I just transferred to my sleeve, but it seems they've already settled in and made themselves at home in my clothing. _Great._

"Remind me to never encounter another tribute again, okay?" I joke, but Seb isn't in the mood for jokes.

"That was scary," he says, shaking a little. "I was worried he'd actually manage to kill one of us."

I go to respond, but change my mind about my words and pause a little before actually replying to him. "It was, yes. But we're in the Hunger Games, Seb. Things are bound to be terrifying at times."

Seb nods and whispers, "I know, but them being inevitable doesn't make them any better," before walking off. I follow after him, not attempting to make any sort of conversation. Right now, talking just doesn't seem like something worth doing.

 **Author's note: Hi, guys! Sorry about the delay. I couldn't really manage to write anything decent for a while and I didn't want to put out a chapter that I deemed to be pure shite so yeah.**

 **Don't ask how Delta's POV ended up so long in comparison to my normal ones (Lyndon's too, to a certain extent), because I have no idea why either.**

 _ **11- Lyndon Meyers, D1f2 - Lennon Chai**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Petra: 4 (Charity, Pepper, Troye, Rowan)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 _ **Rhoena: 4 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto, Ally)**_

 _ **Tiara: 3 (Platinum, Giana, Charming)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Lyndon: 2 (Malachi, Velvet)**_

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Lennon: 2 (Radia, Lyndon)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 **Questions! :)**

 **1\. How was the chapter overall?**

 **2\. Which POV did you least like?**

 **3\. Which one did you prefer?**

 **4\. Now we're down to the final 10... who are your favourite tributes? :)**

 **Have a lovely morning/afternoon/evening/night/whatever time of day it is for you! :D**

 **-Crystal**


	61. Day 12, Part 2

_Lennon Chai, 17, First Female (District 7)_

I killed a girl this morning. I killed her. _I killed her._ And sure, I've killed once before, but that was different. That was _accidental._ But this time? This was _deliberate._ And that makes it so, _so_ much harder to forgive myself over.

I mean, I get that it was inevitable. _I get that._ At this point in the Games, I'm just lucky to be alive at all. Killing someone else was something that I was going to have to do, but it just... it just really, really _sucks,_ I suppose. Maybe that attitude seems a little immature, or maybe even borderline ignorant, but it's the truth, and I'm not sure how else I could put it.

The fact is, I'm angry with myself over it all. She was a living, breathing child, and I ended her life. Sure, she wasn't exactly innocent herself, but neither am I. I'm sure that she didn't deserve to die at my hand there and then, and I hate myself for it. Through ending her life like that, I've brought myself down to the same level as the very cruellest tributes. I've changed, and it certainly isn't for the better.

I just- I just don't know how to deal with it all. I'm a monster. A _monster._ And I let myself become one, and I don't know how to process that. There's no guide on how to react when you callously kill some girl who wasn't even harming you at that moment, though I wish that there was. That would make this all so much easier to bear. As it is, I don't know of any coping mechanisms that could possibly work aside from simply trying to block it out altogether. Forget it, as such. And the only way I can think of doing that which could even _possibly_ work the _slightest_ bit is trying to shut myself out from the world altogether for a while, so that's what I do. I try to focus on one point on the ground, not taking my eyes off it for even a second, and I shut out all sounds other than that of the wind. I just want to ignore everything other than the purest parts of nature itself, and I think that to some extent, it actually works. I manage to close myself off to the outside world.

I don't even hear the footsteps until they're right behind me and a knife has found its way into my back.

* * *

 _Invictus Nero, 14, Third Male (District 2)_

I need to learn to better pick my fights. Sure, going up against that duo earlier may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but I should have been wiser and noticed that the factor that made me most determined to face them was the very one that should have rung alarm bells and made me leave them alone: the fact that they are a duo.

If the wound on my chest is anything to go by, I should just stick to fighting lone tributes without backup from now onwards.

Speaking of my stab wound, it _hurts._ And by that, I mean it really, _really_ hurts. If sponsorship was still allowed then I'd like to think that somebody would have sent me some kind of ointment and some bandages, but alas, they have been banned. I just have to hope that it will heal by itself, and I'll just have to get the Capitol's surgeons to deal with the scar's appearance when I get out of here. For now, however, what it looks like is the least of my worries. I just can't let it get infected, which is why I've had to use up some of my limited supply of clean drinking water to clean it.

I can only hope that that will be enough.

At the moment, I'm in the safest place I could find. At least, it seems to be fairly safe. It doesn't look as though a lot of tributes have been here, so I think I'm okay for now. I just need to rest for a day or so to get some of my strength back, and hope that I'm popular enough in the Capitol that they don't send in muttations to finish me off straight away.

I think I'm popular enough. I certainly should be - after all, I'm pretty attractive, if I do say so myself. I'm sure the girls wouldn't want their eye candy to be taken away so soon, because let's face it, none of the other remaining tributes are even close to being on my level.

No - I think I'm safe to rest a while. I'll be back to form in next to no time, hopefully, and then I'll be able to keep on attacking _solitary_ tributes until I'm the lone survivor.

Simple.

* * *

 _Tiara Holden, 18, First Female (District 1)_

Rhoena and I are still walking. I have no clue where we're headed, but after my kill earlier I'm still so elated that I honestly couldn't care less. In the arena, everywhere is dangerous, so I suppose it doesn't actually matter.

I haven't felt this happy in a while, actually. I feel somewhat... at peace? That probably sounds weird, given that I'm a mass murderer walking through a place where other killers like me want nothing more than for my head to be removed from my body, preferably by their own weapon as they hold it in their hands, but I'm beyond caring about that. Rhoena and I shall probably have to split soon, but until that moment comes, we have one another's backs. All things considered, I'm probably one of the safest people here.

Relatively speaking, I have very little to worry about right now. With that thought in my head, I can just continue singing that silly little tune from back home that's stuck in my head without a care in the world. After all, there's no point in fretting unnecessarily.

My ally, however, seems to disagree with my logic. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Tiara, please stop singing - you sound like a strangled kitten!" Rhoena groans. When I turn to her, however, there's a grin on her face. Sure, it looks weirdly manic, but we all have to be a little disturbed to get this far.

"Fine," I sigh. I poke her arm jokingly, like I've done so many times before, but she seems a little on edge when I do it this time. I frown, but I don't read into it too much. It's only natural for people to react a little differently at times, I suppose - _especially_ when they've been put in the middle of a death match against their will like she has. I shouldn't judge her for it, really.

One thing that does strike me as being a little odd, even despite the less than comfortable circumstances that she has found herself in, however, is that she proceeds to not say a single word for at least the following ten minutes. On several occasions I almost start humming a song, but her dislike of me doing it prevents me from doing so, and I suffer through the uncomfortable silence for as long as I can, no longer feeling so peaceful. Instead, I feel a little restless, and I don't like the feeling.

Eventually, I can't take it any longer, and I stop walking. She obviously notices, and stops also.

"Okay, Rho. Tell me what's up, because you're never like this, and it's beginning to concern me." I give it a minute as her face contorts slightly, almost as though she is considering her response carefully. When this stops, however, and she says nothing, just letting her face return to its previous expression, I begin to worry.

"Rhoena?" I prompt, slightly unnerved by her lack of a response. She isn't usually this quiet and unresponsive - not around me, at least. Her mouth twitches a little, almost as though she is going to smile but something is stopping her. I turn away, not wanting her to see my newfound panic. Something seems off, and I'm not quite sure what it is until I feel a sharp pain in the middle of my back and I drop to the floor. With a gasp, I quickly turn my head and see my ally standing over me, a bloody knife in her fist.

"Friendships can't last forever," she says, and the last thing I see before my whole world turns black is her smirk.

 **Author's note: So... been a while, huh? Sorry about that. I'd love to be able to give you a whole bunch of reasons behind the months I didn't upload during but honestly? The only ones I actually have are a total lack of motivation and a desire to only put out chapters that I'm at least fairly happy with. And I'm sorry about that, I swear. This story will get completed eventually, I promise, even if it is taking a little (read: a lot) longer than I had hoped/expected. I haven't given up yet. :)**

 _ **10- Lennon Chai, D7f1 - Tiara Holden**_

 _ **9- Tiara Holden, D1f1 - Rhoena Lyter**_

 **KILL COUNT:**

 _ **Rhoena: 5 (Thomas, Brietta, Risetto, Ally, Tiara)**_

 _ **Tiara: 4 (Platinum, Giana, Charming, Lennon)**_

 _ **Petra: 4 (Charity, Pepper, Troye, Rowan)**_

 _ **Mason: 4 (Vernon, Scoria, Eucalyptus, Scintillaea)**_

 ** _Monique: 3 (Fiyero, Taylor, Kiora)_**

 _ **Invictus: 2 (Natalie, Glair)**_

 _ **Lennon: 2 (Radia, Lyndon)**_

 _ **Sebastian: 1 (Ellia)**_

 _ **Darryn: 1 (Bug)**_

 **Questions:**

 **1\. Did you expect these triibutes to die?**

 **2\. Who do you think will die next?**

 **3\. How was the chapter?**

 **-Crystal**


End file.
